


The Avengers go to School

by Fanhag102



Category: Amazing Spider-Man (2012), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Domestic Avengers, F/M, Loki pranks, M/M, Peter Stark-Rogers Parker, Peter as Steve and Tony's adopted son, Superfamily, teenage avengers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-13 12:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanhag102/pseuds/Fanhag102
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Avengers are somehow transformed into teenagers and decide to use this opportunity to attend high school with Peter. Hijinks Ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Avengers go to School part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly just Superfamily fluff, little bits and pieces of Peter's relationship with his fathers and the other Avengers, but it gets a little serious at some points because my superfamily headcanons are just like that.

It was a Thursday.

Peter woke up early on Thursdays. Well, he was woken up early on Thursdays, by JARVIS, his family’s personal Artificial Intelligence and pain-in-Peter’s-ass; though only on Thursdays when all Peter wanted to do was sleep in just a few minutes longer after having been out all night patrolling the city as Spiderman. His father had programmed JARVIS, every Thursday, to wake Peter up with his frustratingly cheerful British accent (which Peter genuinely enjoyed hearing—any time but Thursday mornings) and make sure Peter made his way down to the training room for Thursday morning mandatory sparring practice and superhero training. It was one of the many rules Steve had put in place when it became clear Peter’s spider powers weren’t going away any time soon.

Today was no different. Peter groggily rolled out of bed, his shoulder still a bit sore from his slight miscalculation last night that had caused him to crash and skid along the side of a building before he could right himself. He groaned and blinked, looking around his room for his exercise clothes. Instead, he found a loose T-shirt (ACDC, so probably one of his Dad’s that he’d stolen on accident), and a pair of sweatpants that he tried to put on by sticking both feet into one pant leg and falling sideways off of his bed before taking the pants off and trying again.

Once fully clothed (with all feet and arms in the right holes) he began his sleepy decent from his room, which was situated near the top of the Avengers tower, to the training room several floors below. He still wasn’t fully awake by the time he reached the right floor and opened the doors to the training room, ambling inside and feeling more like a zombie than anything else (much less a superhero).

It took him a full three minutes before he realized that the training room was mysteriously and completely empty.

He blinked, finally starting to wake up—something that didn’t usually happen on a Thursday until he was already facedown on the mat with his Pop’s or Natasha’s or Clint’s elbow and/or knee digging into his spine. He looked around the training room again, this time more closely, tensing himself for a surprise attack (his Pop liked to throw a few of those in every now and again). He held his breath, eyes scanning the wrestling mats, the weight area, the punching bags, and the water fountain. His spider sense wasn’t tingling, so it appeared there was no danger, but it was definitely odd for his Pop to be late; Peter kind of though it went against his old-fashioned morals to show up late to anything.

“JARVIS…” he said slowly. “Are you sure it’s Thursday?”

“My calendars are never wrong,” the computerized voice replied, then added, “But I regret to inform Master Peter that neither your Father, nor agents Barton or Romanov will be joining him for this mornings training session, as the Avengers were called in for duty at around 3 o’clock this morning, much to Mister Stark’s obvious displeasure, and have yet to return.”

Peter relaxed almost instantly. If his family was out on official Avengers business, then that was obviously why they weren’t waiting for him for his Thursday morning training session. A tiny sliver of worry laced through him at the thought of every member of his strange but lovable family risking their lives, probably in this very moment, but it was a familiar reaction, and he let it fade, confident that everyone he loved would be returning home soon. He could already imagine what his Dad would say when he got home, ranting about villains not having the common decency to attack the city at a more reasonable time of day.

Also, this new development meant (Peter tried not to get too excited) that he wouldn’t have to wear himself out training on this particular Thursday morning. He might even be able to catch another hour of sweet, sweet sleep! He spun around, headed for the door of the training room, when JARVIS decided to burst his bubble.

“Luckily,” he began, and Peter cringed. “Your father gave me very clear instructions with regards to your morning training that he wished for me to relay to you. First, you should do 50 push ups, 50 pull ups, 50 squats—“

Peter cut him off with a long, pained groan.

“JARVISSSS,” he whined, his shoulder’s slumping at the very thought of having to exercise on his own this early in the morning. It was hard enough with his Pop breathing down his neck to make sure he wasn’t skimping on his weight lifting.

“JARVIS, please, do this one little, tiny thing for me. Let me off the hook for the workout today.”

“Captain Rogers was very firm—“

“Pleeeeease! Don’t you have a heart, JARVIS—don’t answer that! Just let me sleep today, alright? I promise I’ll work extra hard in tomorrow night’s training.”

Silence answered him, and just when he thought all was lost, he heard the familiar sound of a computerized sigh, and JARVIS replied,

“I only allow this because I know the statistical importance of sleep to a growing teenage body. Your father will not be pleased with you.”

Peter smiled, throwing his fist into the air with success. He raced back upstairs and crashed onto his bed, snuggling instantly into the soft blankets and silky sheets.

“Wake me at 7, JARVIS.” He mumbled into the pillows.

“It would be more reasonable for Master Peter to wake by 6:30 so that he has time to—“

“7 o’clock, JARVIS.”

“…6:45.”

“Deal,” was the last thing Peter managed to say before he let exhaustion overcome him. So far, this Thursday hadn’t started out so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [Tumblr ](http://goodboydummy.tumblr.com/) here.


	2. Avengers go to School Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the hat is dropped, it's Loki's fault, and Peter's life sucks.

As agreed upon, JARVIS woke Peter at 6:45, his soothing voice much more pleasant to hear after an extra hour of sleep on Peter’s part. He still rolled lazily out of bed and slumped to the bathroom to take a shower; he felt much more refreshed than he had an hour ago. He even hummed a bit as the warm water poured softly over his skin. Because of the extra 15 minutes JARVIS had pushed on him, Peter allowed himself an extra 10 minutes in the shower, letting the high powered jets massage the shoulder that he’d hurt the night before (though it did already feel better than it had an hour prior; thank god for superhuman healing).

Once out of the shower he got dressed, grabbed his backpack, and headed downstairs for breakfast.

“They back yet, JARVIS?” he asked as he made his way down the stairs, pulling a hand through the moist hair he hadn’t bothered to brush.

“The Avengers returned fifteen minutes ago while you were in the shower. They are assembled in the kitchen now.”

“Cool,” he glanced at his watch and saw that he still had about 20 minutes before he needed to leave for school. “I can have breakfast with them before I go.”

“Before you enter the kitchen,” JARVIS said quickly; Peter was already standing outside the kitchen door. “There is something I really should warn you—“

Without bothering to wait for said warning, Peter pushed open the kitchen door and came face to face with six oddly familiar looking teenagers.

As soon as he entered, each of them turned to stare at him with expressions ranging from abject horror to boredom. It was a real testament to the strangeness of Peter’s life that it only took him about 5 seconds to process the situation and react accordingly.

“Oh my god my parents are teenagers.”

“Good morning to you too, Peter,” said a voice that was so filled with snark that Peter would recognize it instantly, even if it was at a slightly higher pitch than he was used to hearing it.

“Dad,” Peter replied to the teenager sitting at the counter directly across from him. He was wearing a black shirt that Peter could clearly see the arc reactor shining underneath, had short, dark hair (not a hint of grey, Peter noted), a youthful face and just a touch of scruff on the end of his chin where there should have been a tastefully sculpted goatee. He stared at Peter carefully over his cup of coffee.

“Sorry about this, Peter,” said the other boy sitting directly beside the teenager that was apparently his father, Tony Stark. This boy was blond, hair perfectly combed; he had a strong jaw and an expression of earnestness that Peter only ever saw on his other father, Steve Rogers.

“Pop,” Peter replied weakly, letting his backpack fall on the ground beside him.

“Well,” came a female voice to his right. “At least we didn’t freak him out.”

“I dunno, Tash. He looks pretty freaked to me.”

Peter glanced to the right side of the kitchen where stood what was quite obviously a gangly, teenage version of his aunt Natasha. He gaped at her, feeling himself blush as he stared at her obviously adolescent body. She still wore her usual Black Widow, skintight suit, but it looked loose around her thinner, not-yet-completely-developed frame. When she glared playfully at him for staring he knew for sure it was her.

Beside her was teenage Clint. He was shorter, thinner, less muscular, hair longer and—oh my god, Clint had acne. Peter had to stifle a laugh; something that became even more difficult to do when he looked towards the other side of the kitchen to see teenage Bruce slumped awkwardly against the wall, clothes still ripped apart from being the Hulk in the earlier battle. His acne was twice as bad as Clint’s and he looked so scrawny Peter thought he might break. He’d always known uncle Bruce was a nerd but seeing it for himself really brought it to life. If this was how Bruce had looked during high school, Peter imagined that his teenage years were not the best.

Peter’s attention was then tuned to the refrigerator. The door was open and what Peter assumed was the teenage version of Thor was digging inside it and pulling out every single piece of food he could find before promptly stuffing it in his mouth. Thor looked as strangely youthful as everyone else; he was about half his usual bulk, muscles only slightly above average rather than vastly above as they usually were. His hair seemed a bit longer, his face a little rounder, but he still had a beard—it was just slightly less developed than the beard the asgardian usually sported. It looked out of place, as if it just didn’t quite fit his face anymore. As Peter watched him he took out a carton of milk and downed the entire thing in what looked like two giant gulps. Peter wondered if he’d gotten the appetite of a teen’s as well as the body of one. Judging by the way he was packing away those pop tarts, he assumed that he had.

“Am I going to get an explanation, “ he asked weakly, “or do I just have to guess?”

Natasha rolled her eyes, looking startlingly like one of the cheerleaders at his school, then had a seat at the end of the bar and pulled out a knife to use as a nail file. Peter glanced imploringly at his fathers. Tony had his eyes glued to his phone, but Steve took pity on him and said in the voice of teenage Captain America,

“Frost Giants. We got the call at around 3 this morning—“

“Way too early to be fighting those abominable snowmen, or to be fighting anything, really,” Tony said, not bothering to look up from his phone.

Steve glanced at him and sighed, apparently too tired to reply with a Tony, heroes can’t schedule when they want to save the world or some other logical argument to Tony’s usual childishness. He continued,

“So, we went out and there was a fight. Lucky for us they made some sort of ice fortress on the water and we held most of them there so there wasn’t much damage. You know how Fury gets when we destroy half of New York in a—“

“Pop,” Peter interrupted softly.

“I think he wants the part where we got turned into the Breakfast Club,” Bruce muttered weakly from the corner. His voice was shockingly high and Peter felt a twinge of sympathy for his uncle; clearly the guy went through puberty later than most.

Steve nodded, smiling at Peter in a way he just knew would make every girl in his school swoon on impact,

“Right. Yeah, so once the battle was over and the Frost Giants high-tailed it back to wherever it is they come from—“

“Jotunheim,” teenage Thor added helpfully through a mouthful of frozen waffles that actually looked as though they had yet to be unfrozen.

“Right, there. Anyway, we were all a bit scuffed up—Frost Giants aren’t exactly easy to kill—when suddenly Loki shows up. He didn’t have anybody with him and even though we were weakened from the fight we still probably coulda taken him, so I—I let him talk for a minute.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Cap,” Clint said kindly, patting Steve on the shoulder as he moved past him to the fridge Thor had finally abandoned in exchange for raiding the pantry. “Not like this is the worst thing Loki’s ever done to us.”

“Loki did this?” Peter asked, never unsurprised when Loki pulled some prank on the Avengers, even though it was basically a monthly thing at this point.

“He said he wanted to turn over a new leaf and heal our wounds for us. He didn’t really give us time to reply before he’d cast his magic and we were like this.”

“In all fairness,” Bruce added helpfully and wow that voice was definitely going to take some getting used to before Peter would be able to hear it and not want to laugh. “He did heal our wounds.”

“He was cackling as he magicked himself away. I don’t think his main goal was healing us,” Natasha replied dryly.

“That was not cackling, my friends,” Thor boomed, slightly less deep than his usual boom. “That is Loki’s normal laughter. He has laughed that way since we were children.”

“And you never stopped to think, hey, this laugh sounds evil and insane. This guy might be evil and insane. Go figure.”

“How long is it gonna last?” Peter asked, genuinely worried about how long he would have to live with teenage versions of his family. Regular versions of them were bad enough, but add in angsty hormones and that was sure to be a recipe for disaster.

“We don’t—“ Steve began, but was cut off by Tony, who had finally looked up from his phone.

“I was just trying to figure that out. I calculated the average duration for one of Loki’s spells. They usually hold on for 3 days, the longest one having lasted a week.”

“Which one was that?” Clint asked curiously, taking a bite of the apple Peter had been hoping to have for breakfast.

“The theme music,” Tony replied, and instantly all of the Avengers, including Peter, groaned. Yeah, that hadn’t been a fun week.

“Ugh, yeah I prefer this,” Clint said. “I was much more flexible when I was this age.” To demonstrate this, Clint did an effortless backbend across the kitchen floor. He then glanced at his scrawny arms and frowned. “Less muscle though. That kinda sucks.”

“At least you have muscle,” Bruce whined, holding up a flimsy arm and sighing. Clint smirked at him, eyes bright and shining; it was somehow more terrifying a look for him as a teenager than it was when he was a grown man.

“You have to have some muscle to even draw a bow back. I wonder what teenage Hulk looks like!”

“I don’t wanna find out!” Bruce groaned, laying his forehead on the counter delicately.

Peter huffed a laugh and asked his father,

“What are you going to do? Are you still the Avengers?”

Steve sighed, running a slightly smaller hand through his hair.

“We have to be. But I don’t think we’ll be going outside for anything other than missions until this wears off. I’m not sure how the American people would react to a group of teenagers as their defenders, even just for a week.”

“Does that mean I can call Pepper and cancel that meeting I had scheduled for today? I’m too tired to argue with investors,” Tony said, laying his head down on the counter and closing his eyes.

“Yeah, you should cancel all your meetings until we’re back to ourselves,” Steve said, smiling gently and rubbing the back of Tony’s neck. “Hopefully we can avoid the media getting news of this.”

“Ugh,” Clint groaned. “A whole week stuck inside! This is gonna be worse than that time Bruce thought we’d all caught some kind of alien virus and had us ‘quarantined’ until he was sure it was gone.”

“Master Peter, it is now 7:45. If you wish to get to school on time today—“

Peter felt his stomach drop. He snatched up his backpack from the floor and flew through the kitchen, grabbing a banana as he went. He’d gotten so caught up in Teen Avengers he forgot about breakfast.

“Shit!” he cursed, glancing at the clock and slinging his backpack across his shoulder.

“Language, Peter,” Steve chided, using his fatherly voice—which sounded really weird coming from someone who looked like he could be in Peter’s class. “Do you have lunch money? Are you going to make it on time?”

“If I leap across a few buildings on my way,” Peter smirked.

Steve frowned but Peter didn’t even have time to throw his father an apologetic smile before he was racing to the door. He had his hand on the door handle when he heard one word that made him stop in his tracks.

“School.”

He froze, turning slowly back around with a sick feeling of dread settling into his stomach, it almost felt like his spider sense was trying to warn him about something. What he saw when he turned around only confirmed his fears.

Tony was sitting upright now, all earlier signs of fatigue gone, replaced with his mischievous Tony Stark grin and bright eyes that looked as if they were already calculating the odds of pulling off whatever plan was blossoming in his genius mind.

“School.” He repeated, palms flat on the counter. Everyone had turned to look at him now, waiting expectantly. Peter just shook his head, hoping that this was some sort of dream or nightmare and he would wake up before his father said—

“We’re teenagers,” he pointed out, motioning to all of the Avengers that were situated randomly throughout the kitchen. “Teenagers go to school.”

“Dad no,” Peter whispered, his voice a pleading hush.

Tony looked at him brightly.

“Aren’t you going to be late, Peter?”

“Promise me you won’t do this, Dad,” Peter said, eyes wide and begging. “Promise!”

“I have no idea what you’re taking about,” Tony smirked, his face alive with juvenile glee as he pressed a button on his phone and said, “Pepper, I need a favor.”

Peter groaned, knowing there was nothing he could do. Hopefully his Pop or aunt Pepper would talk his Dad out of it, but there were no guarantees; he’d talked them into much worse than this before. Peter bolted out the door with a grimace. He was definitely going to be late.

So much for his relaxing Thursday.


	3. Avengers go to School Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has to convince everyone else that pretending to be high schoolers isn't the worst idea ever.

Getting into the school was the easy part. It barely took a teaspoon of Tony’s hacking powers to break into the school computers and input seven new student files into the mainframe. He labeled them all as “transfers,” just in case anyone got a bit suspicious. He even took the liberty of assigning their class schedules for them and had them printed out before the first period bell had even rung.

Talking everyone else into going along with this ridiculous idea was the hard part.

“Natasha, Clint, come on. Don’t bullshit me and tell me you never wished, for even just a moment, that you could go to high school like a normal teenager.”

Natasha just rolled her eyes, but Clint got a far-away look that Tony instantly latched on to.

“Not homeschooling with clowns and acrobats, Clint, but a real high school experience! We have been given an opportunity here! We would be idiots not to use it!”

“Just cuz you always dreamed of being a normal teen instead of the son of a rich business leader doesn’t mean the rest of us wanted that, Stark,” Natasha replied sharply. “I never went to high school and I never felt like I was missing out on much. Looked pretty miserable to me.”

“It was,” Bruce and Steve chorused, glancing at each other with a sense of geeky camaraderie. Tony decided on another approach, moving to Steve’s side and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe it was shitty back before the serum, but look at you now, Steve! This is a chance for you to redo high school, get a second chance at all the things you weren’t able to do before!”

He moved away from Steve, who appeared doubtful but had his arms folded thoughtfully. He sat down beside Bruce and slung an arm around his scrawny shoulder, pulling a schedule from the table and holding it up for Bruce to see.

“I sighed us up for Chemistry and Physics together, Peter’s even in Chem with us. It’ll be just like playing around down in the lab!”

“Then why don’t we just play around down in the lab?” Bruce replied squeakily, crossing his arms and giving Tony an exasperated look.

“Because this way we can show off! It’ll be great, Banner. Nerds aren’t mocked nearly as much these days as they were back when you went to school. And we can make fun of Peter in front of a girl he likes—you know live for that stuff!”

“Tony, this is a bad idea,” Steve said, though he clearly found his husband’s enthusiasm amusing.

“It’s a great idea!” Tony replied firmly. “You think so, don’t you Thor?”

Thor looked up from the leftover Chinese food he’d been digging into.

“I do not know what is so special about this high school that would make you want to go there. Is it floating miles above the ground as SHEILD’s mighty helicarrier does?”

There was silence for a moment after this then Tony held a hand towards Thor as he turned back to Steve and said with mock outrage,

“See! Thor’s never even heard of high school! Now that’s just unfair.”

“We’re not going, Tony,” Steve said firmly. “It wouldn’t be safe for us or for the students.”

Tony stared at him challengingly for a moment before slumping into a chair and sighing.

“Oh well. I guess Peter will have to live without having an art class with his very talented artist father,” Steve looked up, smiling at the very thought. “And he’ll never get the joy of editing the school Newspaper with one of his favorite uncle’s, Clint. And he’ll never be able to be lab partners in chemistry with his loveable uncle Bruce. He’ll never be able to race around the track against his uncle Thor or make fun of the crappy Russian teacher with his aunt Natasha. It’s a shame. I think he would have enjoyed that.”

“He’s taking Russian?” Natasha asked. “Why didn’t he just ask me to teach him?”

“Maybe he likes this teacher better,” Tony shrugged. “Now you’ll never know.”

“I have always wanted to see Pete while he was hard at work in art,” Steve muttered thoughtfully.

“We’ve got British Lit. with him too. And the class after that is World History. I wonder what time period they’re studying now? I’m pretty sure I saw Peter writing a paper on World War 2 the other day…”

“I could be very helpful in that—“

“What is this track that you speak of,” Thor interrupted curiously. “And why should young Peter and I be racing around it? I wish to know the answer to these—“

“Is Chemistry the only class I have with Peter?” Bruce asked, glancing over at his schedule again and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“No, you have Pre Calculus with him too. Everyone would have at least two classes with Peter—if we decided to go.”

“What do I have with him, besides Russian?” Natasha asked, reaching out for her schedule, which Tony handed to her with an excited smile.

“You have Russian and Gym.” He passed the others their schedules and watched as they looked over them thoughtfully. “Thor has Gym and Mythology with Peter, which should be interesting. Bruce, you have Pre Calc and Chemistry with Peter and I. Clint you have the Newspaper class and Mythology as well. Steve has Art, British Lit. and History. We all have the same lunch.”

“They have an archery class at this school?” Clint asked. He seemed impressed.

“I’ve always wanted to try weaving, actually,” Natasha said softly, staring down at her schedule.

“What is shop class? I have never heard of such a thing.”

“You get to use a hammer,” Tony offered, and Thor broke into a wide grin.

“Outstanding!”

Tony sidled over to Steve who was still staring down at his schedule thoughtfully.

“We have a few classes together ourselves,” he murmured over Steve’s shoulder. Steve looked up at him and for a moment Tony felt like a bit of a pervert for thinking that teenage Steve was absolutely delicious, but then he remembered that he was a teenager too, so it was alright to lust after his age-shrunken husband. “I was thinking we could pass notes, you know, maybe meet up in the hallways between classes, see just how adolescent these bodies really are.”

Steve blushed but felt a wanting grin spread on his face that matched Tony’s.

“It’s still dangerous,” he reminded Tony.

“What’s life without a little danger?” Tony asked, a twinkle in his eye that Steve was sure would always be there, no matter how old Tony was.

Steve smirked back, looking to the other Avengers who seemed to be waiting on his decision. He sighed, held up his schedule and asked,

“Who’s ready to go back to school?”


	4. Avengers go to School Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers have to learn to dress like teenagers.

It took them a while before they were all ready to leave. They all had to find clothes to change into that fit their shrunken bodies. When this proved to be mostly impossible, Tony called Pepper up and had her deliver clothes that would fit all of them well enough and hopefully help them blend into the crowd of modern high schoolers. It was worth it just to see Pepper’s face when she opened the door and saw them in all their adolescent glory.

 

“There’s no need to laugh, Pepper!” Tony frowned, snatching at the bag of clothes his assistant was holding out for him. “It’s not like you haven’t seen pictures of me like this before.”

“Oh, I’ve seen pictures of you that you’d burn if you knew even existed,” she replied, still chuckling lightly. “But that’s very different from seeing your boss shrunk down to a little kid with your very own eyes. Your voice is adorable, did you really sound like this?”

“If you’re asking me whether I’ve always sounded this suave and sophisticated then yes, I did. Now leave, we’ve got to get to school as soon as we’re dressed.”

“Oh my god, you’re really doing it?” She paled, playful smile dropping instantly from her face. “Steve actually let you talk him into this? And Natasha? Tony this is a horrible idea.”

“You only say that because you are a killer of fun, Mom. Don’t you have somewhere to be? Shouldn’t you be covering for your mysteriously ill boss at some conference right now?”

She huffed and rolled her eyes.

“Just don’t get into any trouble, Tony. I don’t want to get a call from the school saying you got a detention for blowing up the bleachers or something. Just stay with Steve and do what he does. Oh, and don’t antagonize Peter too much. The kid goes through a lot.”

“Fine, fine,” Tony waved a hand at her, scrolling through something on his phone. “Fun killer!”

She shook her head and vanished through the door in a click of heels against marble tile. A second later the rest of the Avengers ambled down the stairs, all fully dressed in teenage-appropriate clothing.

“What were you all doing that took so long, staring at yourselves in the mirror?” Tony asked, sliding his phone back in his pocket.

“Actually, yes,” Clint admitted. “It’s really fucking weird being this young again. My face is all chubby and I could barely reach the light in the bathroom.”

He was wearing a light purple V-neck t-shirt and narrow-legged black pants, complete with black combat boots and sunglasses. He clearly hadn’t known what to do with his longer hair so he just put a beany over it, giving him the look of a rebel skateboarder that Tony felt fit him disturbingly well.

Natasha had put her hair up in a ponytail at the top of her head, wore a form-fitting pink top and dark skinny-leg jeans with gladiator sandals. Pepper had even brought her some jewelry to accent the look and if Tony hadn’t known better would have thought she actually looked quite harmless. Then she lifted her shirt over her stomach to make sure the knives she’d strapped there were safely tucked in place. Tony just nodded and figured that was the most he could expect from her.

Bruce looked, well, Like Bruce. He wore a plain white t-shirt with a dark purple button up over it and loose jeans underneath.

“Banner, really? I thought I said we needed to dress like teenagers.”

Bruce looked down at his outfit then gave Tony a glassy-eyes stare and replied, pointing to his shirt,

“I did. See, I left three buttons undone instead of one. You can see the undershirt.”

Tony just shook his head and wrote Bruce off as a lost cause. He turned to Thor and was much more pleased with his clothing choices than with Bruce’s. He wore a white undershirt as well but hadn’t buttoned the blue and red flannel he’d put on over it. His jeans fit perfectly and Pepper had apparently bought him some sort of armband that completed the look. Tony gave him a thumbs-up and he grinned broadly in reply.

When Tony turned to inspect Steve he couldn’t help but give a slight intake of breath at the sight before him. Steve had chosen a simple outfit: light blue t-shirt with an American flag artistically faded on the front, distressed jeans and a simple pair of shoes. Tony bit his lip, forcefully stopping himself from conjuring up images of ripping the clothes off of that young, toned body as Steve held Tony’s own adolescent form up easily, pinning him against a wall or locker. Instead of offering to skip the whole “go to school” plan and instead staying home in bed, Tony said,

“Looking good, Cap.”

His voice cracked sharply but if Steve noticed he pretended not to, catching Tony’s gaze and holding it as he replied,

“You too, Tony.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony broke the gaze, glancing down at his own outfit. He had on a thick, black t-shirt that blocked out the arc reactor’s light and dark, obviously designer jeans. Pepper always knew to get him the best. He wore what looked like a miniature Iron Man faceplate on a string around his neck; to anyone else it would just be fan jewelry, but it also functioned as a button that would summon the armor to him in case there was an emergency. “I always dress out of my age-group, don’t I?”

Steve smiled and nodded towards the door.

“Ready to go? If we leave now we should be able to make it for 3rd period.”

Tony grinned deviously—Peter was in his 3rd period. Today was going to be great.


	5. Avengers go to School Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six fully grown superheroes have no idea how high school works. Also, COULSON!

When the Avengers arrived at Midtown High it occurred to them that they had absolutely no idea what to do from there. In truth, the large, four-story main building was… intimidating.

“Where do we go?” Bruce asked aloud the question they had all been thinking.

No one answered. They waited for someone to take charge and decide a plan of attack. Perhaps just from habit, Steve stepped forward nervously and said,

“This is the main building right? We should, uh, go to the main office.”

“The main office!” Tony exclaimed. “Why hadn’t I thought of that? Alright gang, everybody know the story?” They all nodded, except for Thor who was staring off into the distance (apparently he’d gotten the attention span of a teenager as well as the appearance and the appetite), and Tony added, “Ok, here we go. Hm… now where is the main office?”

They found it easily; all they had to do was walk into the front doors. They filed into the small, messy front office waiting room, and a mousy, blond secretary stared at them all (particularly Steve and Thor) with wide eyes.

“C—can I help you students?”

“Ah, yes,” Tony said easily, sliding up to the front desk and resting his arm on the counter. He gave the secretary a signature Tony Stark smile and said as nicely as he could, “We’re new students. Just transferred here today. We were wondering if you would be so kind as to direct us to our classes?”

“Y—you're transfer students?” She asked, glancing at all of them then at the computer in front of her like it might explain it more clearly. “All of you?”

“Yes,” he paused to read the secretary’s nameplate, “Mrs. Baxter. Our records should be in the computer, if you need to double check.”

“I—I’m not really sure. There’s so many of you—are you all together? Are you related? I don’t know the—“

She may have continued blubbering on that way if not for the sudden interruption from an office on the other side of the room.

“Mrs. Baxter, these students are here to see me,” Agent Coulson's voice said as the man himself stood in the doorway of the office. Tony could just blink at him but he heard Steve make a surprised sound before he managed to cover it up with a cough.

Mrs. Baxter placed a hand on her chest and seemed instantly relieved. She clearly hadn’t been equipped to handle this sort of situation. She smiled kindly at Coulson and said,

“Well then, that’s lovely. They may go in to see you now, I guess.”

“Lovely,” Coulson smiled at her before walking back into his office to show that Tony and the others were supposed to follow.

Tony smiled once more at the secretary before walking into the small office, the other Avengers close behind. As soon as Natasha gently closed the behind her, Tony leaned over the desk Coulson was sitting at and said lowly enough that his voice wouldn’t be heard outside,

“I knew SHIELD was wiretapping the Tower!”

“Of course we are, Stark.”

“How are you already here though? I came up with this plan like 40 minutes ago and I know that’s not enough time to become an active member of the staff. You have an office! What the hell?”

“I was stationed here as soon as Peter got his powers. I’m not here all the time, obviously, but I’m here enough to keep this cover intact.”

“Sneaky bastards,” Tony muttered, shaking his head. “You’re here to tell us to go home before we cause some irreparable damage, aren’t you?”

“No,” Coulson replied cheerfully. “Just here to give you these.”

He then handed them all two papers. One was a more detailed print out of their class schedules that included teachers names and room numbers, and the other was a crudely-drawn map of the campus to help them get around. Tony raised an eyebrow at Coulson, who just smiled at him and said,

“Fury’s not happy, but I figure you might actually learn something. This is a school, after all.”

Tony could have kissed him. They said their thank you’s and Coulson warned them (in his usual terrifying, emphatic Coulson way), that if they actually did get into any trouble he would be personally responsible for their punishments, which would “fit the crime,” as he said. Tony assumed this meant they’d be getting detention and banging erases together after school. As soon as they left the main office they stood in the lobby of the main building and looked over their schedules and the map.

“Clint, Natasha and I go this way, Tony,” Steve said, pointing a thumb down the hall to the right. Tony glanced at the map and shrugged in the opposite direction.

“Bruce and I have Chem this way. But we have the class after together. I can tell you about how much fun it was embarrassing Peter!”

Steve laughed. “Go easy on him, Tony. Don’t we embarrass him enough?”

“Never,” Tony replied, pulling Steve down for a peck on the lips before grabbing Bruce’s shoulder and pulling him down the hall. “See you for fourth!”

Steve turned to see Clint clip Thor on the shoulder and say,

“Sorry buddy, looks like you’ve gotta get to your first class on your own. Think you’ll find it alright?”

Thor frowned at his map, then turned it upside down and smiled broadly.

“I think I understand this now! I believe my first class is at the top of this building. I will now venture to this destination on my own. Good luck with your own travels, my friends!”

Steve was a bit worried about letting Thor go off on his own, but he seemed fine, so he followed Clint and Natasha to his first high school class since the 30’s—Psychology.


	6. Avengers go to School Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor gets lost and Bruce and Tony have their very first class with Peter.

Midtown High had three buildings, all surrounding the field and track that sat in the middle of these three buildings. The Main building was the tallest with four floors and all English, Language, and Social Science classes were held there. Math and Science classes took place in the West building and it was as long as the Main building was tall. Art classes were held in the East building, which also contained the library, gymnasium, and both boys and girls locker rooms. History classes were spread out between buildings and students ate lunch in a large cafeteria that jutted out from the base of the Main building.  
Of course, Thor knew none of this. Thus, he could do nothing to find his way about besides study the badly drawn campus map Coulson had given him.

He tried to approach it tactically, as he would the terrain of an unknown battlefield, but so far that had led him to climb up several flights of stairs, back down again, circle the entire Main building and wind up exactly where he started. Thor began feeling frustrated. His sense of direction was usually much more reliable (this was, interestingly enough, not true, as several of the Avengers and all of Thor’s asgardian friends could attest to).

He was to the point of wandering aimlessly down an abandoned hallway, still trying desperately to decipher the complex schematics, when another student noticed him and harmlessly tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around, prepared for anything, but came face-to-face with but a thin human boy with curly blonde hair and round glasses.

“Are you new?”

Thor tried quickly to remember the story the quick-witted Stark had given them earlier. He remembered something about transfer students but he’d been distracted at the time by a most fascinating Midgardian snack called “string cheese.”

“Yes?” he asked, hoping that answer was the right one.

The boy then reached out and tugged the map from Thor’s grip, looked at it crossly then glanced back at Thor with a crooked smile.

“You’re lost, aren’t you? What’s your name?”

“I am Thor, of Asg—“ he stopped himself just in time and coughed, clearing his throat. “Thor. Thor Odinson.”

Something about that seemed to amuse the boy, though Thor did not know why, but he just cleared his throat in reply and said,

“My name is Leif. Give me your schedule and I can help you get to the right class, okay, Thor?”

Thor just nodded; glad to finally have some assistance. He didn’t like needing it, but he liked being lost even less. He handed over his schedule and Leif scanned it quickly, his glasses flashing before he looked up and smiled.

“How about that! We have the same class. You can just come back with me.”

“How fortuitous!” Thor replied cheerfully, following behind Leif as the smaller boy led him down the hall and up a flight of stairs.

“You really weren’t that far off,” Leif called back behind him. He stopped and showed the map to Thor, pointing to the smallest building drawn there. “See, you were in the right place, just not on the right floor. The classroom is here.”

He waved a hand at the closets door to Thor’s left and moved to open it. He walked inside the class and Thor made to follow him, thinking himself mighty lucky to have met such a kind, young soul to lead him to this place of study.

_________________

Between two brains the size of Bruce’s and Tony’s they managed to read the map and find their classroom in less than five minutes. They stopped just outside the door and Tony said with an excited grin,

“Just let me do the talking.”

Bruce rolled his eyes as Tony opened the classroom door and walked inside, muttering under his breath,

“What could go wrong?”

He followed Tony through the door and stopped just inside. The room was suddenly quiet and Bruce could feel about 25 sets of eyes staring at him. Then, from the back of the room came a soft intake of breath and a groan that sounded a lot like, “you’ve got to be kidding me.” Bruce didn’t have time to look back for Peter because the teacher spoke up just then.

“Can I help you boys?”

The teacher was a short, average-looking man sporting a small moustache and an almost entirely baldhead. He wore a lab coat and stood at the front of the class behind his desk. Tony replied right away.

“Mr. Warren, right? My name is Tony and this is Bruce. We’ve just been transferred here and we have your class now.”

“Do you?” Mr. Warren asked, surprised. “May I see your schedules, just to double check?”

Tony and Bruce both handed over their schedules, allowing Mr. Warren to look over them critically. After a minute he handed them back, seeming satisfied.

“Tony Stark, huh? Any relation?”

“No, Sir.” Tony lied easily and Mr. Warren accepted the lie just as easily.

“Well, anyway, sorry if I seemed suspicious, but they don’t usually allow transfers into AP classes midway through the semester. This is a pretty advanced class. I hope you boys will be able to comprehend everything.”

Tony’s smile widened. He was absolutely loving this. Even Bruce had to admit the situation was a bit amusing—both he and Tony could probably out-teach this guy with both their hands tied behind their backs.

“I think we’ll manage.”

The teacher still seemed skeptical, and pointed to the back of the class. Bruce and Tony followed his finger, which happened to be pointed directly at Peter, who was glaring at Tony with an expression nothing short of utmost loathing. Mr. Warren seemed not to notice his expression and addressed Tony and Bruce, saying,

“Just in case, you should sit with Parker. He can explain anything you don’t understand.” He handed them a packet each and added, “We’re working in groups right now to answer these questions. They’re straight from the AP exam, so they’re pretty challenging. You two can be in a group with Parker and work the rest of the class on this.”

“Just curious,” Tony asked, tilting his head to the side and casting a glance back at his still fuming son. “Why isn’t Parker already in a group?”

Warren snorted.

“Doesn’t need to be. He’s a genius.” Tony smiled widely, the look of a proud father. Bruce just laughed a shook his head. He had a feeling Tony had known that was what Mr. Warren was going to say; he’d just wanted to hear it.

“Lazy though,” Warren added offhandedly. “You can have a seat now.”

With that, Bruce and Tony headed towards the back of the class. It’d been a few minutes since they’d walked in and most of the students had lost interest in them and gone back to their work, but a few of them were still casually ogling Tony. Bruce was ignored, but this didn’t surprise him and he was far too used to it to bother feeling down about it. After squeezing between a few badly-arranged tables they finally arrived at Peter’s table at the very back of the class where he sat alone, eyes burning holes in Tony’s forehead.

“Hey Pete!” Tony said cheerfully, plopping into the seat to Peter’s right. Bruce pulled out the chair and sat down beside him.

“Dad,” Peter said through gritted teeth, glancing around to make sure no one was paying any attention. “Seriously?”

Tony didn’t dignify that with a response, instead choosing to stare observingly around the classroom, apparently making mental notes about certain students and objects. Peter took a deep, slow breath, leaning his head back until he was staring up at the ceiling. Bruce felt a bit guilty about allowing Tony to talk him and everyone else into this ridiculous plan, but a moment later Peter glanced at him and smiled sadly.

“Hey, uncle Bruce.”

“Hey Pete,” Bruce replied, relieved that Peter seemed to be focusing his anger entirely on his father. Tony then apparently finished his scan of the classroom and turned to Peter, saying pointedly,

“You never told me your science teacher was Raymond Warren. I’ve met him a few times at some science functions—he even came to the Stark Expo once. He’s way too smart to be a high school teacher.”

“Wait, he’s the Raymond Warren?” Bruce asked, glancing once again at the teacher sitting at the front of the class, reading what seemed to be a scientific journal.

“Yeah, you’ve heard of him?”

“Heard of but never met. I didn’t even think to put it together when I heard his name. Seriously, Peter, I didn’t know you had such a renowned teacher.”

“Never asked…” Peter mumbled, looking unhappy as he stared at the tabletop in front of him.

Bruce pondered this dispirited reaction momentarily, frowning as Peter continued to stare at his desk. He’d always helped Peter with his homework when he was young, but it’d been years since he’d even bothered to ask Peter how his grades were. He knew he couldn’t be the only one, either. He had just assumed that Peter didn’t need any help with school anymore, and ever since Peter became Spiderman his schooling had seemed even less important than before. He wondered when the last time someone had asked Peter how his day was, without expecting details about some robbery or mugging he’d stopped. Bruce made a mental note to do just this, and maybe spend some more quality time with Peter.

Suddenly, a girl approached the table he, Peter, and Tony were sitting at. She was blond, with straight bangs and hair pulled back in a ponytail. Bruce didn’t have to be a genius to see how her sudden appearance affected Peter.

“Peter?” She asked, smiling at him then sparing short, cordial glances at both Bruce and Tony. “Can you help me with problem two? I just don’t know how to start it.”

Bruce saw the thick swallow go down Peter’s throat as he looked up over his glasses at this girl. Then he bit his lip to hide a smile (something Bruce firmly believed the young Peter had inherited from Tony), nervously shuffling his packet over to question two and clearing his throat to reply,

“S—sure, Gwen.” He then set to reading the question quickly to himself, obviously blatantly aware of his father’s and Bruce’s eyes fixed on him with amused interest, if that blush was any indication. “Oh, right, yeah. They’re trying to trick you with this question. They set it up so you assume that the first step is to balance the equation, but you can’t, see, because it needs to be simplified a little more before you can try and balance it.”

“Oh,” Gwen replied brightly. “I get it. Thanks, Peter. I think I can do it from here.”

“No problem,” he said as she walked away. “If y—you have any other questions, I’m here. Any time.”

She threw another grateful smile over her shoulder before sitting down at a table near the front of the class. He continued to stare after her with a ridiculously sappy grin on his face, then, he suddenly realized the awful mistake he had just made. His smile fell from his face and he turned to face Tony like he was turning towards an explosion.

Bruce didn’t blame him. When he glanced Tony’s way he felt pity well up for the poor kid. Tony’s face was absolutely dripping with glee.

Bruce just sighed and shook his head. So much for learning something…


	7. Avengers go to School Part 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint doesn't like high school and then he does.

Psychology was interesting. Much more interesting than Steve remembered it. Even Natasha had to admit that she’d enjoyed the fun, easy-going attitude the teacher, Mr. Sweets, had about his topic.

When they had first walked in, Steve had been surprised. The person in a button up shirt and a tie standing at the front of the classroom looked very young. It made Steve wonder about what ages they even let people become teachers.

Clint embarrassed all three of them (though mostly himself) upon entering the classroom by flat-out asking Mr. Sweets if he was the teacher, and then instead of dropping it once he knew the answer, insisted on asking how old Mr. Sweets was. After that Natasha elbowed him in the ribs and he was quiet for the rest of the class, wondering silently to himself what he’d done to even deserve that.

The point is, because of Clint’s loud mouth they all sort of started off the class on the wrong foot. It was obvious from Mr. Sweets’ embarrassed reactions to Clint’s questions that he was self-conscious about how young he looked, and didn’t like it to be pointed out. Steve was sure it couldn’t be easy getting the students to respect him if they thought he was one of them.

But, despite that, it was clear that Mr. Sweets enjoyed interacting with his students instead of just lecturing them. And, it was obviously from the way the students spoke to Mr. Sweets (Steve heard a few of them refer to him as just “Sweets”) that they liked and respected him just fine. Even Natasha had been impressed with the way he controlled the class.

Most of the period was devoted to discussion on the topic of morals in psychological experiments. Apparently the class was just starting this unit, so Steve, Clint, and Natasha wouldn’t be too far behind. Both Steve and Natasha raised their hands (something that felt very strange for Steve, who hadn’t raised his hand for anything in many years) to add their own opinions into the mix (though Steve had been a bit worried when Natasha raised her hand, because he just wasn’t sure about her morals). Clint was still sulking quietly to himself over Natasha’s reprimand at the beginning of class.

Before they even realized it, the bell had rung and class was over.

The three of them stood just outside Mr. Sweet’s class once the bell had rung, each of them pulling out his or her schedule and looking it over along with the map to figure out where they needed to go.

“Ha!” Clint exclaimed happily, thrusting his hand up in the air. “I have my next class with Peter! Newspaper, on the top floor of this building.”

Steve appeared to be blushing as he read what his next class was. Natasha glanced over his shoulder and smirked.

“Have fun in Computer class, Cap. I’m sure you’ll be the star student.”

He replied with an unamused looked that worked much better on his teenage face than on his regular one. He didn’t let her teasing bother him though, because despite how hilariously bad he still was with computers, at least Tony would be there to help through it. He grimaced then, realizing that it was more likely that Tony would spend the whole time making fun of him, but at least Tony would be there.

Natasha was off to Math IV, which sounded like about the most boring thing she could think of. She and Clint split up when she had to head into the West Building.

“Say hi to Thor for me, Tash,” he called over his shoulder. Natasha found herself smiling before she could stop. Maybe there was something to this whole “school” thing after all.

Clint wasn’t sold on High School just yet. His first class hadn’t gone exactly the way he’d planned. Natasha was acting cold towards him (not like that was unusual, but still). He didn’t have many classes with Bruce (he hadn’t been entirely joking about teenage Hulk). And he already had homework he wasn’t planning on doing.

The only thing that was keeping Clint from walking out of Midtown High before fourth period while he still had a chance was the idea of being in class with Peter, his very favorite nephew—which he still enjoyed telling Peter. When Peter was young and Clint would say that, Peter would laugh and scrunch up his face, replying, “but Uncle Clint, I’m your only nephew!” It never got old, though it had for Peter once he reached his preteen years and started replying sarcastically with an added eye-roll, “You don’t have any other nephews, Clint.”

Clint didn’t stop saying it though, and eventually Peter just had to learn to live with being Clint’s very favorite nephew.

So Clint was excited about his class with Peter and glad that he didn’t have to wait all day to see him. He made his way to the Newspaper classroom easily (his map-reading skills probably the best in the group), though he didn’t beat Peter who was already sitting at a desk talking with a slim teenager. Apparently this kid noticed the grin on Clint’s face upon seeing his nephew and stopped Peter’s rant to point towards Clint. Peter turned around and his face fell.

“Not you too!”

Clint sat down beside Peter, still grinning, and said,

“What? Not happy to see your favorite uncle?”

“Ssshhhh!” Peter hushed, eyes wide as he slapped a hand over Clint’s mouth. He glanced around then back to his friend. They seemed to exchange some kind of unspoken dialogue before the kid turned to Clint and grinned. Peter removed his hand from Clint’s mouth as the other boy said,

“You must be a friend of Peter’s. I’m Harry Osborn, nice to meet you.”

Clint let out a low whistle and leaned into Peter’s ear to whisper,

“Hanging around with an Osborn, huh? Not bad, kid.”

“Shut it, Clint.”

“Oh, come on, Peter. You can’t stay mad at us all day. I haven’t done anything to deserve—“

“You don’t know what Dad did in third period!”

Clint had to really work to contain his laughter. He had no idea what Tony did but he was sure it was awful—Peter’s reaction certainly made it seem so. Peter saw Clint’s laughter and was about to go off on him for it but then he realized that Harry was laughing behind him and turned around to yell at him instead. Before Clint had a chance find out what it was Tony had done, the bell rang and a tall blond student walked through the door, threw his bag on the table and moved to the front of the class. At least, Clint thought he was a student until he began talking like a teacher.

“Alright, alright settle down everyone. We have a lot of work to do today. The issue is supposed to come out in one week and we’ve barely got 3 articles to fill it with, so today has got to be a busy day—do we have a new student?”

Clint, who really didn’t want a repeat of his first period, replied tentatively,

“Yes. Clint Barton, Sir.”

The young man’s eyebrows shot up and a few of the kids in the class laughed. Clint’s face fell and he wondered if all high school consisted of was making an idiot of yourself.

“I’m not the teacher,” he replied flatly, jerking his head over to a desk in the corner of the room where a woman was reading determinedly at a thick packet of papers. “The teacher is Dr. Sully, but she usually leaves me in charge as editor-in-chief. John Jameson, nice to meet you Clint.”

“Jameson… Are you J. Jonah Jameson’s son?”

“That’s right. So Clint, have you ever done newspaper before?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Clint replied with a shrug.

“Uh, John,” Peter interrupted softly, standing to look at Jameson though he was still about a foot shorter than the other man. “Clint is a friend of mine, so it might just be easiest to have him help me out for a while before you give him any assignments of his own.”

Jameson eyed Peter momentarily then glanced at the clock and strode around to the front of the class.

“Fine, I’ll leave the newbie to you, Parker. Don’t let him get me into any trouble. We need to hurry up and get started—Stacy! Tell me about the Spiderman article.”

Peter pulled Clint back down into his seat as a pretty blond stood up, shuffling through papers and notes as she did.

“Wait,” Clint said, leaning towards Peter thoughtfully. “Did he say Spiderman article?”

Peter grimaced but didn’t appear worried. He remained silent along with the rest of the class as “Stacy” finally found the page she needed.

“I have enough eye-witness accounts to start writing, I’m just not sure which angle to write from.”

Jameson seemed thoughtful then asked,

“What titles have you come up with?”

“Um,” she replied, glancing down at her papers. “Well, since it’s about how people keep seeing him around the school I thought of the title, ‘New Superhero Swings Close to Home.’ How does that sound?”

“Not bad,” Jameson said, running a hand through his hair. “Take it a step farther when you’re writing the article. Why has Spiderman been seen around the school so much? Is it possible he’s a student here? Develop something like that.”

“Can do,” the girl replied, and Clint thought Peter looked a touch faint now. Clint felt a little guilty. Guess Peter wasn’t having a great day either.

Jameson moved on to the next student, ad the student after that, though clearly the Spiderman article had been his biggest interest. Everyone else seemed to be excited about that article as well, judging from the snippets of conversation Clint overheard as Peter and Harry quietly discussed something beside him.

Eventually Jameson came to Harry, told him to get at a computer and do some research into some article he was supposed to be writing about corruption in the school system, then turned to Peter and Clint.

“What are you working on for this issue, Parker?”

“The, uh, iPod thief thing.”

“How are you doing with that? Did you get the interviews I told you to get yet?”

Peter seemed to shrink in his chair as he replied,

“I tried yesterday to get the interview with Mrs. Isles but she just avoided me all day. I was going to try and get quotes from the kid’s who’ve had their iPod’s stolen today.”

“Well off you go then. And you’re taking this new guy along with you, right?”

“Yeah,“ Peter replied, grabbing his notebook and camera then pulling Clint towards the door.

“Don’t come back without those quotes, Parker!” Jameson called after them before turning to interrogate the next student about her article. As soon as they were outside the classroom Peter stopped rushing. He took a deep breath and Clint asked,

“Who’s Mrs. Isles?”

Peter made a face and replied,

“Ugh, she’s the horrible security officer. She’s terrible at her job. If something gets stolen don’t even bother reporting it to her, you’re never getting it back. And she knows that’s exactly what I’m going to write about her, which is why she won’t give me an interview about the iPods.”

Clint nodded, understanding, then asked a different question,

“So the infamous J. Jonah Jameson’s son is your schools newspaper’s editor-in-chief?”

Peter shrugged as they started walking down the hall towards a destination Peter probably knew but Clint didn’t.

“Yeah, but he’s really not so bad. He doesn’t really like the paper, not that you can tell. He wants to be an astronaut, actually, but his dad wanted him to have some experience with the paper in case that didn’t work out.”

“Mhmmm,” Clint nodded, then finally asked the real question,

“So, the Spiderman article?”

Peter stiffened but only for a moment.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Well,” Clint began lazily, scratching the hair beneath his hat. “I happen to know Spiderman, and I just don’t think he likes having articles written about him—especially ones that seem to be trying to figure out his secret identity.”

“They aren’t ever going to guess it’s me,” Peter replied, rolling his eyes.

“Why not?”

Peter sighed, glancing at Clint unhappily before confessing what Clint was positive were his nephew’s honest, true thoughts on the subject,

“I’m not really the hero type.”

Clint hadn’t been expecting that, but it sounded familiar somehow, like he’d heard it before. Suddenly a years-old memory came to him of Director Fury handing him a tablet with information on a few non-SHIELD-employed heroes that SHIELD was interested in recruiting. Somewhere on that tablet was a video of Tony Stark announcing that he was Iron Man, but it was something Tony had said before that announcement that Peter’s confession had reminded Clint about.

He smiled, shaking his head. The apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree.

“Not the hero type, huh? You do fine in training.”

“Yeah, Uncle Clint, but that’s training, it’s not—“

“And I’ve never seen you out in the field because your fathers are overprotective jerks who force you to do all your superheroing at night behind their backs…”

Peter’s eyes grew wide and worried at this but Clint just winked and Peter relaxed.

“But I’m sure you’re very much the hero type. You’re a good person, and that’s all it takes, Peter.”

Peter’s expression softened and he looked away thoughtfully.

“Thanks Uncle Clint, but that wasn’t really what I meant.”

“I know,” Clint replied, shrugging as Peter stopped in front of a classroom and knocked on the door. “But you shouldn’t worry about how people see you. If anything, their underestimating you will probably help Spiderman keep his secret in the long run.”

“Hopefully,” Peter agreed as the door opened and the teacher allowed Peter to go inside and ask to borrow a specific student by the name of Tyler Sparrow. Tyler seemed more than happy to exit what looked like an extraordinarily dull algebra class and didn’t even mind discussing how her iPod got stolen. Once Peter thought he’d gotten enough quotes from her he let her get back to class and they started walking to their next destination. After a few more stops they had compiled a pretty good idea of how each iPod had gone missing, and they were noticing a few similarities in the cases.

“Every student said their iPod was stolen from the outside area of the cafeteria,” Clint noticed as he read over the notes Peter had taken.

“Well,” Peter added, pointing to a student’s name in particular. “Except for Larry, but he’s not especially bright so he just might not have noticed that his iPod was stolen until after lunch.”

They were heading back to the newspaper classroom because the bell would be ringing soon and they still needed to report their work for the day. The connections they’d found between each theft put both of them in a good mood and by the time they were back in the classroom they were laughing.

“So, tell the truth, Pete. What’d Tony do in your second period?”

Peter groaned but his smile was still there. He glanced sheepishly over at the blond girl who was working on the Spiderman article. He leaned to whisper in Clint’s ear.

“The blond girl over there? Her name is Gwen and she’s in my second period too.”

“Do you like her, Pete?” Clint asked excitedly. He’d never heard about any of Peter’s crushes before. He took another look at the blond and thought proudly that his nephew had good taste.

Peter blushed, but momentarily seemed to forget that Clint was his uncle, elder by several years—right then, he and Clint were just two friends talking about which girl one friend liked.

“Yeah, and Dad found out. He spent the whole period going up to her and asking if she had a boyfriend. It was horrible. I wanted to die.”

“Wasn’t Bruce in that class with you?” Clint asked, the schedule’s he’d looked over earlier flashing through his mind. Clint was very good at remembering things like that; he almost had a photographic memory.

“Yeah,” Peter replied. “He wasn’t so bad. He even apologized for Dad and tried to get him to stop, not that it did anything. You know how Dad is.”

Clint rolled his eyes, about to tell Peter a story about his father that would be perfect payback (it involved paint, three pigs, and Maria Hill) but just then the bell rang. He watched as Peter gathered his things then Harry joined them and Peter smiled, told Clint he would see him later, and walked out the door.

As Clint made his way to his next class, he was amazed at how much more he liked school now than he had after his first class. And he’d always loved Peter, every single Avenger loved Peter like he was their own, but he’d never been able to interact with Peter like he had today. Clint had to admit, this was one of Tony’s better ideas.

He couldn’t wait until fourth period tomorrow.


	8. Avengers go to School Part 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony have their first class together. It's... eventful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some homophobia and bullying in this chapter. Also, a guest star from another fandom (though not the first in this fic), but chances are most people won't recognize him.

Steve was excited for fourth period. Nervous, because he never had _any_ idea what Tony was going to do (though there was always the promise of _something_ ), but excited.

He’d never had anyone to be intimate with during high school. He had seen couples “going steady,” but he never got to experience it himself. Even Bucky had a solid girlfriend for a little while in senior year. It wasn’t like there were many public displays of affection back then, but sometimes there was hand-holding and subtle flirting. It’d always seemed really nice to Steve, the couples who shared classes together and got to spend that time being together together. Steve had always wished someone would like him enough to be like that with him.

And now, Steve had Tony.

Tony definitely liked Steve enough. They’d been married for nearly 13 years, not that anyone could tell from the way they acted around each other. Clint still called them “the lovebirds” when they started using pet names over the comms on missions.

Sure, they argued some times, mostly about Peter, but they had argued worse before they were together. At least now when they argued there was always angry sex to make them both feel a little better. Steve supposed they’d slowed down their sex a bit. Tony was getting a little older, after all. But they were only slowed down compared to how they were when they’d first gotten together and really, _anything_ would be slow compared to that.

Tony still managed to surprise him, flashing a sly grin his way after a particularly sweaty workout session or time spent away from each other. Sometimes Steve would initiate, but he was always a bit worried about exhausting Tony; he’d been that way since they first got together, cautious of Tony’s non-serum-enhanced body. Though, once it was initiated, those worries tended to fly from Steve’s mind faster than one of Clint’s arrows. It was hard to think about much of anything when Tony’s body was arched against yours and his voice was straining in your ear.

Steve wasn’t even sure how to feel about the body Tony had now, all young and limber—and it’d been clear from Tony’s hints earlier that he planned on exploring with Steve just how limber he really was.

So yeah, Steve was excited for fourth period so he could finally get his chance to be all couple-y in high school, and he was looking forward to his classes with Peter, but he was also really looking forward to the end of the day, when he and Tony could go home and to their room, locking the door so Peter wouldn’t walk in on them—again.

Steve was just about to walk inside the Computer classroom when he saw Tony coming towards him. His de-aged husbands gave him a warm smile and they walked through the door together.

“How’s it hangin’, handsome?”

Steve just smiled as he and Tony took a couple of empty seats at the front of the class. More students poured in until the bell rang. Steve glanced around the room looking for the teacher. The only one who seemed right was a tall, blond man with round glasses sitting at a desk in front. But, Steve wasn’t sure he was the teacher, considering he had his feet propped up on desk and was blowing bubbles with his gum. The room was quiet for a minute then a girl asked tentatively,

“Mr. Jensen?”

The man looked up from the laptop screen he’d been staring at with wide eyes. It took him a moment but eventually he realized that he needed to teach something to the students that were sitting in class waiting for him.

“Oh, right! Teaching. Uhhh, just do the same thing you guys did yesterday, sound good?”

Steve and Tony looked around the class, confused as the students began turning on the computers in front of them. Half of them looked disappointed, but the other half were pleased, a few boys in the back high-fiving as they brought up some first person shooting game on their computers and started playing. Tony took the initiative to lean over to the girl sitting beside him and ask what the hell was going on.

“Oh,” she rolled her eyes then looked between Steve and Tony. “You must be new. That’s Mr. Jensen. He’s a sub, but he’s already been here all week. We are supposed to be working on a web design project, but Mr. Jensen just sits with his laptop all day and lets us do whatever we want. Mr. Pugh, our real teacher, isn’t going to be happy when he gets back.”

“So, what do we do?” Steve asked.

She gave him a look.

“Whatever you want.”

She then turned back to her computer, opened the first person shooter game and instantly blasted one of her opponents. A boy in the back of the class let out a loud groan and she smirked at the screen triumphantly. Tony turned back to Steve and shrugged.

“This… isn’t really how I remember high school,” Steve said, glancing around the class then at the teacher who would randomly make excited sounds, almost like he was playing the video game too. “If we had a substitute teacher they would always stick with the lesson plan, never let us play around all class period.”

“Most of my tutors,” Tony said in the voice Steve knew he only used when he was talking about his childhood, “let me do whatever I wanted. I was smarter than they were anyway, and I always studied.” He paused and smirked. “I was the best student in the class.”

Steve laughed, instinctively reaching over to grab Tony’s hand. It felt strange at first, because his hand was smaller and softer than Steve though it was, then he remembered that Tony was a teenager. He couldn’t help but compare the Tony he knew to the Tony now; it was strange to think about the idea that Tony had at one time genuinely looked like this.

“Staring pretty intently there, Cap,” he said, giving Steve a flirting wink. Steve blushed, wishing he were more used to Tony’s personality by now. He did manage to smile and roll his eyes.

“Your eyes,” he replied, and Tony flashed him a quizzical expression. “They’re different. Brighter somehow.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony nodded, glancing away from Steve. “This teenage body hasn’t lived through an extended period of alcoholism. Not to mention being a superhero and running an international company.” He paused, looking at Steve without catching his eye. “You look different too, you know. Like you still believe in the world.”

“I—“ Steve began, startled. “I believe in the world!”

“Sometimes,” Tony murmured, looking up at Steve underneath his eyelashes in the way that always drove Steve crazy. “And sometimes you seem completely hopeless. Tired. You think I don’t notice, but I do. I’m your husband, after all.”

It was times like these when Steve realized how much he owed Tony, how much he loved him. No one understood him like Tony did; Tony was his best friend. It was true that sometimes, when the villains came one after another, when the battles never seemed to end, when innocent lives were lost, that Steve did feel hopeless, like nothing he or the Avengers did could help really save the world. And he knew Tony felt that way sometimes too, so Steve hadn’t wanted to burden him with his own problems.

He should have known Tony would notice. Tony was good at noticing thing; better than most people would give him credit for. Steve hesitated, aware of the caution on his husband’s teenage face, then smiled.

“I don’t feel hopeless when I’m with you,” he murmured. Steve had a feeling they would be talking about this more later on, but for now, this was enough.

Tony’s expression relaxed in an instant, a slight smile lighting up his youthful features. Steve found himself captivated by those features again, unable to tear his eyes away from that familiar yet strange face.

He reached up and touched the smooth skin around Tony’s mouth, finding the few hairs on his chin amusing. He caught Tony’s gaze, his eyes suddenly dark and wanting. Without thinking anything of it, Steve leaned over, holding Tony’s chin steady as he pressed their lips together, the sensation still familiar despite their altered appearances.

He realized his mistake the moment he’d made it. When, from the back of the room, came loud voices, barreling through their moment of happiness.

“Ey! There’s some nasty homos at the front of the class!”

A white-hot rage filled Steve the moment he heard it. Everything went silent, whether that was because the class went silent or because his ears just weren’t working, Steve didn’t know or care. He tried to stand but Tony pushed him back into his seat, standing and facing the back of the class instead. Steve wasn’t sure what Tony was going to say, but knowing his husband it was going to be brutal and absolutely perfect. Steve held his breath, but just as Tony was about to start, another voice came from right behind them.

The teacher, who hadn’t done so much as look up from his laptop since the class started, was standing behind them with something like fire glinting in those round, geeky glasses of his.

“Leave this to me, kid,” he said, smiling at Tony. Tony turned to him, apparently so startled that he actually took a seat, watching with Steve and the rest of the class as the enigmatic Mr. Jensen looked at the kid who had spoken out in the back of the class with that same fire in his eyes.

“I didn’t mean nuthin’ by it,” the kid mumbled, attitude lacing every drip of his voice. “I just said they was homo—“

“Hunter—“ Mr. Jensen began, and a few of the students looked around, apparently surprised this substitute teacher even knew the kid’s name. “—you really shouldn’t be so adverse to homosexuality, considering that no chick is ever gonna want to date you, given your… little problem.”

The Hunter kid scowled, half confused and half pissed. The rest of the class seemed confused too, and Steve had a feeling Tony wished he’d taken care of embarrassing the homophobic kid himself instead of leaving it to the amateurs. Then, Mr. Jensen pressed a key on Tony’s computer’s keyboard, and suddenly, on every screen in the classroom, was a glaring picture of Hunter, hand wrapped around his dick, a dick that couldn’t be much larger than a double A battery.

The effects of this picture were instantaneous and loud. The entire class, in Steve’s opinion, went crazy. He tried to remind himself that they were all teenagers, so their maturity was somewhat lacking, but then he looked beside him and noticed that Tony was probably yelling/laughing the loudest. He looked at Steve, grabbed his face and kissed him again, as though in celebration. Steve laughed, admitting that this punishment was almost good enough to make up for the comment Hunter had made towards he and Tony.

The kid tried to get the image off the screen, but nothing worked besides just shutting down the computers monitors. He started running around the room, turning the screens off as a blush raged across his face.

“Stop laughin’! It ain’t funny!” he said, and Steve began to feel a bit bad for the kid. Sure, he was a homophobic asshole, but this was bullying. Steve knew how it felt to be on the receiving end of something that spread through the school and tarnish your reputation. Rumors based on lies were bad enough, but this one had some truth to it now that the picture was out there.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Mr. Jensen said to him quietly when he noticed Steve’s troubled expression. “Look, that’s the fifth comment like that this kid has made in this class. He’s not a nice kid, so you don’t have to feel bad for him. I was just giving him a little payback, all in the name of fairness.”

Steve still looked skeptical. It wasn’t in his nature to exact payback, but he did believe in fairness…

“Better than having you get in trouble for punching his lights out, don’t you think?”

Steve had to admit that was a good point. The picture went away a minute later, much to the class’s disappointment. Tony turned around, wide-eyed and impressed, asking,

“You have _got_ to tell me how you did that!”

Mr. Jensen winked, which caused Tony to flush for some reason, and replied,

“Teacher secret, I’m afraid. Now, back to work.”

With that, he walked back over to his desk and resumed typing away on his laptop. Hunter didn’t make another peep for the rest of the period, and although Steve felt bad, there was something satisfying about the whole thing as well. He supposed this was just what high school was like.

“I’m surprised,” he said to Tony after the commotion had more or less died down. “You actually sat down when the teacher told you to.”

“Yes,” Tony’s eyebrows creased thoughtfully. “It was strange. He looked at me and for a moment I thought he really looked like you. You know, normal you. And I guess I just listened to him out of habit.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Like you ever listen to me.”

Tony could only smirk in reply to that. The rest of class passed rather smoothly. Steve cast a few glances over in Mr. Jensen’s direction and he supposed that if you looked hard enough there was a little bit of a resemblance between them. Then Tony caught him looking and said something like, “he’s actually pretty cute now that I’m looking again. Whatdya say? Threesome with teacher?”

Steve had hit him, though after so many years together he knew Tony was only joking. Those kinds of jokes had bothered him in the beginning, not because he thought Tony would cheat, just because he didn’t like how people acted around Tony if they didn’t know he was taken. Their very public marriage fixed that right up; Steve hadn’t had a problem with people coming on to Tony since.

Near the end of class, Tony brought up Peter.

“We have British Lit with the kid next. I’m excited. You should have seen what I did to him in Chemistry!”

“Oh Tony, tell me you didn’t embarrass him.”

Tony looked at Steve with wide eyes, adding excitedly,

“Are you nuts? Of course I did! He’s my only kid, what else am I gonna do for him? Give him advice? Nah, that’s your job, Pops.”

“Well, I won’t let you embarrass him again,” Steve said sternly. “I want to see how he really acts in class. I feel like I don’t know much about him lately. He’s never home, he never talks about school or friends. I was trying to give him some space, I know how difficult the teenage years can be—not to mention the spider thing—but I worry.”

Tony nodded. “The spider thing” was what they called anything that had to do with Peter being Spiderman. It started because when the truth finally came out that Peter had somehow gotten superpowers, neither Steve nor Tony had handled it very well. Honestly, none of the Avengers had handled it very well. They hadn’t wanted him to be like them, and by the time they found out he had already donned the costume. It was too late.

They were so stuck in denial and fear and frustration that they couldn’t even face Peter being Spiderman. Whenever they talked about they all called it “the spider thing.” Made it seem less permanent, like it might go away day after next.

Even though they had mostly come to terms with it by now, they still sometimes called it “the spider thing,” if they weren’t thinking about it.

“Seeing him in class was nice, actually.” Tony conceded, smiling fondly. “It’s definitely a side of him we don’t get to see at home.”

Steve smiled too, a reminiscent expression crossing his young features.

“He used to tell us everything, remember? Everything he learned or read, or just thought up himself.”

“He was a smart kid. He still is.”

“Remember the time he was convinced he could breathe underwater because he ‘upgraded his snorkel’?”

“Remember? I was the one who had to dive in and get him! Little monkey. What about the time Thor took him to Asgard and he got goddam _Odin_ to play horsey? He had the great Norse all-father trotting around on his hands and knees while he rode on his back!”

Steve laughed.

“That wasn’t as bad as the time Loki kidnapped him—“

“Oh, don’t remind me!” Tony groaned. “What a headache that was.”

“—and when we found him he had somehow managed to get Loki to throw him a tea party.”

“Dumbass frost-giant couldn’t give him back fast enough.”

“I still say Loki likes him, he just won’t admit it.”

“Oh, you mean how Loki likes the Avengers and just won’t admit it so he keeps attacking us and casting random spells on us cuz he’s bored and Thor’s too much of a softy to keep him locked in a tighter prison?”

Steve laughed, knowing that was all hilariously true. Loki hadn’t attacked them with anything bad in a while. Sometimes he got in a sour mood and became dark for a bit, but he figured a way out of it eventually and went back to petty pranks and mischief. No one ever knew why he got in his bad moods, but most assumed it usually went back to Thor.

Loki was just fickle, like a cat. A really, really dangerous cat, well-versed in the ways of magic and who sometimes managed to have large armies at it’s disposal. That kind of cat.

Everyone was fairly sure that was how Thor thought of him as well.

A minute or two later the bell rang. Steve and Tony shuffled into the hallway together, heading off to their next class, British Lit with their son. As they exited they just managed to catch what Mr. Jensen was calling to Hunter behind them.

“There’s medicine you can get for that, you know!”

Tony laughed, and Steve allowed himself a satisfied smile. He had finally gotten to experience what high school was like having a class with a lover, and not even one loud, obnoxious naysayer could bring him down. 

 

_______________________

Natasha hadn’t made a final decision on high school yet. There were moments where it was almost fun; psychology had been far more interesting than she ever thought it would be, and she didn’t altogether mind the school environment.

Sure, a few guys had tried to hit on her when she first walked into fourth period, but they had backed off the second Thor boomed her name from down the hall.

“Lady Natasha!” he said, and she turned slowly around as the boys backtracked upon seeing a huge ton of muscle approach the girl they were trying to get with. Yeah, she might keep Thor around.

There was some gangly kid with the thunder god, and Natasha was a bit glad to see that he had made a friend. Not that she would admit it, but she had been just as worried as the others about letting him go off on his own. She just hoped he remembered his cover story.

She made her way inside the classroom, followed by Thor and his new friend whom he introduced as,

“My savior, Leif! He is greatly skilled with maps and directions, perhaps it is a super power.”

The last bit he whispered (well, as much of a whisper as Thor could manage), and Natasha sighed. Thor had a long history of thinking people might be superheroes if they possessed just the tiniest bit of skill in areas he deemed worthy. He would then try to convince Fury and the others that these individuals needed to join the Avengers because, and quote, “no one can surpass Lord Amba in the preparing of the Shawarma!”

Natasha didn’t even bother trying to argue with him; she usually left that up to Clint and Tony. They usually fared the best. The one time Steve had tried to explain, Thor somehow managed to convince him that one of the paramedics should join the Avengers because she had unbelievably delicate and nimble hands. Coulson had stepped in at that point, making up some story about being the official Avengers talent scout and it was solely up to him to decide who was qualified for the job.

Coulson was probably the best when it came to controlling Thor. He was also probably the most knowledgeable one of them when it came to Asgard because he was the only one who managed to sit through Thor’s long, detailed explanations of his home world. Once, Natasha swore she heard him curse in Asgardian, but he would never admit it.

Natasha took a seat beside Thor and the “skilled with maps and directions” Leif. The teacher for this class wasn’t nearly as interesting as the psychology teacher had been, but he was about the same age. As soon as class started he handed them all worksheets and told them to get started while he moved around the class and helped students who were struggling (he spent a good deal of time with Thor, who simply didn’t understand the point of the work).

The worksheets were mostly word problems and puzzles, which Natasha had never been very fond of—she preferred straightforward math questions—but she finished it in about fifteen minutes anyway. She used the rest of the class time to calculate approximately 47 ways to sneak out of the school and 213 ways to kill every student in the room and get away with it. It was good practice; Natasha hated to get rusty.

By the time the bell rang she was almost bored, glad to be moving on to another class. Thor didn’t seem too worried about finding his next class, because it turned out that Leif shared that class with him as well. Natasha found this more than a little bit odd, and there was definitely something suspicious about the Leif kid, but she imagined that if something were amiss, Thor would be able to work it out on his own before something very bad happened.

With that cheerful thought in mind, she said goodbye to him and watched him trot off alongside Leif down the hall. She headed up the stairs to the left, still unsure how she felt about high school.


	9. Avengers go to School Part 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has had enough of his fathers' shit and Clint and Natasha find something really entertaining (which is never, ever, ever good).

Peter had always liked math best. And science, of course, but the two often seemed to go hand-in-hand.

It wasn’t hard to like math and science when you grew up surrounded by Tony and Bruce. Peter’s Pop had had a general day of mourning when he realized that there was another little scientist in the house for him to worry about. Little kid Peter had always thought his Pop worried because his Dad and Bruce sometimes made things blow up while working down in the lab, but when he got older he noticed the way Tony would sometimes stay down in the lab for days and Steve would dutifully bring him food and try to convince him to come up to bed and sleep. That was when Peter realized that his Pop just liked to worry.

Steve hadn’t just been worried because Peter decided science was his calling, he was also a little disappointed. It bothered him sometimes that he couldn’t understand half of what Tony was talking about when he started going on about his tech, though Tony himself never seemed to mind. Steve had secretly hoped that Peter would take more after him and enjoy reading and art more than what he considered “seriously learning,” so he didn’t have to struggle to understand his own son. He didn’t dwell on it though, and was always immensely proud of Peter whenever he accomplished something scientific. One of the biggest reasons Steve and Tony had allowed Peter to attend public high school instead of continuing with his homeschooling was because he had really wanted to compete in the school’s science fair (he had won, of course, and Steve was proud of that too).

It wasn’t as though Peter hated writing and reading, it just never came as easily to him as the more logic-based subjects he studied. There was too much guesswork in literature, and he’d never had a teacher that could manage to make some dead guy’s writing even a little bit interesting—at least, not until Ms. Montooth.

Ms. Montooth was every students’ favorite, and for good reason. She knew everything about everything, was always smiling, and always knew how to keep class interesting. Peter had never learned more from an English class than he had so far in Ms. Montooth’s British Lit. Class.

He remembered trying to explain this to his Pop the first week of the semester, but as soon as he’d begun, the Avengers alarm went off and Steve had to go into Captain America mode. For some reason it bothered Peter more now that he was older than it had when he was younger. When he was little he thought his family was the bravest, best group of people in the world for going out to fight bad guys. Once he was older he started feeling left out and resentful of the Avengers duties. It got better once he became Spiderman, but he still found it difficult to retain his parent’s attention for long periods of time—certainly never long enough to tell them anything about his school life.

So, when both of his fathers walked through the door into his fifth period British Lit. Classroom, Peter couldn’t help but feel a little happy underneath all of the annoyance and frustration that came with having your nosey, youth-ified father attend school with you. They were finally able to see what Peter’s days were like, even if it was from the unfortunate view of his classmates.

“I have so many new students today!” Ms. Montooth exclaimed as Steve and Tony showed her their schedules and Steve looked around Tony to wave excitedly at Peter. He smiled weakly back and tried to pull his hood all the way over his face.

“And a Tony Stark, no less! Close, but not as interesting a name as my new student in third period. Thor Odinson, if you would believe it. I may have to reread some Norse mythology tonight just for the heck of it. You boys can have a seat.”

Tony flashed her a bright smile—Peter could already tell he liked her—then he and Steve made sure to sit right beside Peter at the back of the class. On the first day of school Peter had carefully chosen a seat in the back and had regretted it ever since. Ms. Montooth was the kind of teacher you wanted to see up close.

Not because she was pretty (though Peter thought she was, just not in a traditional kind of way), but because her teaching style drew you in and made you want to pay attention and learn. Ms. Montooth was short, a little round, had salt-and-pepper hair that was buzzed short and spiked up in the front, and had quite a few piercings from her nose to the tips of her ears. She was not traditional, and everyone loved her for it. There was a rumor she was married to the Russian teacher, but most of the students liked her too much to pry into her life like that (though some did wonder how they fit together because Ms. Montooth was almost always nice and the Russian teacher was, well—Russian).

Ms. Montooth began teaching as soon as the bell rang, like she always did. She began every class the same way.

“Good afternoon, Class.”

As soon as the words left her lips, everyone who had been having side conversations (including his fathers) stopped to listen. That was just how Ms. Montooth worked.

“Our new students are very lucky to have arrived today,” she began, all smiles and bright eyes. “We are starting our senior projects, which are compulsory if you want to graduate. I thought we could start off by spending today going over the rubric and looking at some past project topic, just to get the wheels turning in your heads.”

She passed out the rubrics and Peter felt his stomach sink. If this was all they were doing today it certainly wasn’t going to be an interesting class. Tony already looked like he wanted to fall asleep. Steve on the other hand was reading the paper thoroughly, eyes focused like a hawk, even though Peter was pretty sure they would be back to normal long before the project was due. It wasn’t like they needed it to graduate anyway.

Once the rubric was read over and Ms. Montooth answered a few questions, she left the class on their own to start thinking up some topics they might want to do their projects on. She circulated throughout the classroom to give assistance to the more confused students, but was far enough away so Peter’s fathers could lean over and start talking to him without drawing too much attention.

“Well, Pete,” Steve asked cheerfully, waving the rubric paper with a childish smile, “what do you think you’re going to do?”

Peter, who had already done quite a few of these projects in his short time in public high school, was already devising a plan to get through this project while doing the least work possible. It wasn’t that he was particularly lazy, it’s just that every time he tried to work extra hard on a project like this he ended up getting even less sleep than he already did and that only served to put him in a bad mood. He was confident he could do an easy project and still manage to impress Ms. Montooth when it came time for the presentation. Sometimes it didn’t hurt to have access to technology most kids didn’t even know existed. Peter’s powerpoint presentations were always above and beyond anyone else’s (not that he was bragging or anything).

“Probably something about genetic mutation and its place in the modern world.” Yeah, that was good. He’d done a similar project last year in Biology and it’d been a big hit. His teacher said she was on the verge of tears while reading his research paper (something about how he seemed to write as though he had first-hand experience with the subject, weird).

“Oh, no!” His Pop said, eyes wide and serious. “Peter, you already know a lot about that. This paper says you should choose a subject you’re interested in that you don’t know much about.”

“Well, that certainly limits my choices, doesn’t it?” Tony said with a childish smirk.

Peter rolled his eyes at his father’s raised eyebrow and insinuation that there was very little he didn’t know much about. One time, when Peter was about 12, Reed Richards and the Four came over and Tony had spent a good 20 minutes explaining to Peter that just because Reed and Bruce liked to call each other “Doctor” and talk in fancy-scientist-speak didn’t mean they were any smarter than he was. In fact they might be dumber. And he had three doctorates he just wasn’t so uptight about being called Dr. Stark. He totally was though, a doctor that is.

Pop had then explained that Tony was just jealous because Peter had been asking Reed a bunch of questions about some article that had been written about him and his various scientific exploits. Peter had been very surprised to think his father could get jealous, especially over something like that. After everyone left Tony vacated to the lab and Peter had followed after him a few minutes later to find him already submerged in some new project. Despite that, Tony stopped what he was doing the moment he noticed Peter standing in the doorway.

“What’s up, kiddo?”

Peter hadn’t replied, just ran up and gave his father a long hug around the middle. When he felt his father’s hand on the top of his head he’d said,

“You’re my favorite scientist, Daddy.”

Looking back, Peter couldn’t _believe_ the amount of embarrassing things he’d done as a child. That was only one example, but each of the Avengers had a whole mound of child-Peter stories they liked to tell when they started getting reminiscent. Whenever that happened Peter endeavored to escape to his room. When his family started thinking about the good old days they might as well be drunk. Peter shuddered at the memories regarding the times the members of his family really _were_ drunk.

“How are you coming along, Peter?” Ms. Montooth asked as she approached his desk. “Any ideas so far?”

He gave her a shy smile and was about to mention his idea about genetic mutation when his Dad spoke up for him, as if he hadn’t caused enough trouble in third period.

“Pete! You should do a project about superheroes!”

As if his life wasn’t ironic enough. A kid raised by superheroes, who becomes a superhero, _writing a report on superheroes_. There was absolutely no fucking way in hell Peter was going to do a project on—

“What a great idea, Tony!” Ms. Montooth said, and it was obvious from her voice ad facial expression that she genuinely believed that. Peter had never wanted to punch his father before but right now he thought he could do it. “The idea is a little broad though. Maybe you could do the project instead on up and coming superheroes—like that Spider-Man character they’ve mentioned in the news lately.”

Peter really wanted to leap out of the window.

Not that it would do much ‘cause he’d manage to land gracefully on the sidewalk even if he wasn’t trying. At least it would get him away from _these people_.

“That is a brilliant suggestion Ms. Montooth,” Tony preened obsequiously, hands folded on his desk as he grinned away the glare Peter was shooting his way. He had never quite mastered the death glare, though Natasha had tried to teach him at one point. She’d given up about an hour in, sighing and saying something about Bambi eyes being anything but terrifying and there was nothing she could do. Peter had never regretted being unable to master that skill more than at this moment because now his Pop was still talking and Peter thought he might really lose it.

“That Spider-Man sure is…” he paused in the way Peter recognized as Steve trying to find the right modern slang to use, “…cool.”

Peter literally wanted to slam his head into his desk until this all turned out to be a dream, or like, some psychotic drug a villain had used on him that caused him to hallucinate this nightmare.

The only thing keep him from acting out the head-into-desk plan was the fact that this was Ms. Montooth’s class. It wasn’t her fault his parents were transformed into teenagers and determined to make his life absolutely unbearable. She clearly seemed to notice that something was off with him because she gave him a soft smile and tapped the edge of his desk with her fingers as she said brightly,

“Well, whatever idea you come up with is sure to be killer, Peter. You know you’re one of my best students. I’ll just leave you to it. You have another day to decide anyway, so there’s absolutely no rush.”

With that she graciously walked away to go ask some of Peter’s classmates what ideas they might be coming up with, leaving him to turn to his father’s and give them the meanest look he could muster.

“Can you guys, please, for, like, five minutes, not be totally obnoxious?”

Steve was, unsurprisingly, completely confused, but Tony just leaned back in his seat, a shit-eating grin on his beardless, teenage face.

“Come on, Pete, you know you love us. Besides, we’re just having a little fun. It’s not every day we see our little boy in his natural environment like this.”

“Yeah, Peter,” Steve added softly in the voice he’d always used to calm Peter down when he was younger, “something like this project, you never tell us things like this anymore. It’s interesting to see the kind of things you get up to lately. I feel like there’s a whole side of you we don’t get to see anymore. I’m sorry if we’re embarrassing you—well, I am anyway—but it’s just different so you’ll have to forgive us.”

And, maybe it was just because Peter hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep the night before because he was out all night being Spider-Man, and he hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast, and his math teacher had given him a whole pile of homework he knew he wasn’t going to finish, and, Jesus, Chem and his father and Gwen, and that stupid article he didn’t have time to write, and he had Gym today which meant putting up with Flash and his sadistic, meat-head gym teacher—but Peter just didn’t want to hear about how his parents were interested in his school life. His school life wasn’t all that great. In fact, the more he thought about it, the shittier it seemed.

His life was kind of a mess. He didn’t have time for half the things he wanted to do and didn’t have energy or even the will to do half the things he _needed_ to do. After school and on the weekends he either spent all his free time trying to catch up with his homework or training to be Spider-Man or actually being Spider-Man. He didn’t even know when the last time he’d just hung out with Harry had been. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten dinner at an actual dinner table. In fact, every day for the past week at least he’d eaten dinner upside-down while on patrol and had to stop midway through to go do some superhero saving.

And it really wasn’t like Peter could blame anyone but himself for being in that situation. He was the one who decided he wanted to be a hero. He was the one who decided to take a whole bunch of difficult classes. The only thing he could blame on anybody else was the fact that he was completely and utterly alone almost all the time. He never complained to his family; he’d never heard any of _them_ complain about being a superhero, so why should he?

And he’d been dealing with it, really he had. He didn’t mind if some of his grades slipped; his parents never checked anyway, not since he started public school. He didn’t even mind not getting much sleep; he could just sleep through the classes he wasn’t doing too badly in. He was fine with only seeing Harry in school and only watching Gwen from afar because he didn’t have the luxury of friends or girlfriends. He didn’t mind being anonymous Peter Parker in school because he could never tell anyone that he was really the son of two of the world’s bravest and most-loved superheroes. He was used to it, and he knew why, and he didn’t mind, _he really didn’t mind._

All of those things Peter could handle, and he had been handling them for quite a while, all on his own.

What Peter couldn’t handle was his parents coming into his life and messing up all the little things he was already dealing with on his own. He didn’t really know when all this sudden animosity towards his father’s started brewing inside him, but there it was, and he couldn’t ignore it. He hadn’t been angry with them this morning, but everything seemed different now and Peter wasn’t sure why. Why did they have to come to school with him anyway?

His life was hard enough as it is.

“I really do think you should do a project on superheroes. I mean, come on, you have access to great, first-hand information,” Tony said, and Peter just glared. He was tired. He really didn’t want to deal with this.

“Yeah? And what am I supposed to say when they ask where I got that information? Not like I can tell them I just interviewed my family.” He glanced away scowling and lay his head onto the cool desktop. “I can never tell anybody that.” He added softly.

Luckily for Peter, Ms. Montooth took back control of the class before either of his father’s could think too hard about the last little bit he’d let slip. That bit wasn’t something he was proud of and he was trying his hardest not to let his father’s find out. He knew there was nothing they could do about it.

He just needed to make it through this class, make it through the rest of the day, and hopefully manage to convince his family not to attend school with him tomorrow. He would _beg_ Loki to change them back if he had to. Surely they couldn’t cause much more damage before school ended today.

The bell rang for the end of class and his Pop smiled at him and said,

“Looks like we have the next period together too, Pete!”

Steve was trying very hard not to seem too excited about it, but it was obvious that he was. Peter had a hard time staying angry at his Pop when he acted all considerate like that.

Wait… Next period. What did he have next period? Sudden realization overcame him like his spidey-sense on heroin. 

_Oh no._

 

“Oh my god.”

“I know.”

“No,” Clint added, mouth hanging open and a gleeful expression on his face. “Like, oh my fucking god.”

“I know,” Natasha repeated; she was in complete agreement.

“This is the best thing that has ever happened.”

She rolled her eyes. Clint watched her and shrugged.

“Okay, slight exaggeration. But, Tasha, seriously, what I would give to be in this class next period. Tony can’t possibly know about this, right?”

“Hell no,” She replied, shaking her head. “If Stark knew he’d transfer into this class faster than you could say Capsicle.”

“How come Peter never said anything?” Clint asked with serious wonder in his voice.

“Why do you think?” She replied sassily. Clint privately thought that Natasha was made to be a teenager but knew better than to mention that aloud.

“I mean, I get why he wouldn’t tell Steve, obviously. And Tony. But why not tell us? We’re super good at keeping secrets. Pete has to know I’d love to hear something like this!”

She sighed. Clint loved Tasha, but sometimes he got a little tired of her treating him like an idiot all the time. He had a theory that she was secretly a scary, Russian Femanazi who was working on plans for female domination of the world. This theory went in the folder of his mind labeled, “Things that will get me killed.”

“I don’t know,” she admitted glumly, staring at the desk in front of her. “Seems like Pete never tells us anything these days.”

“He told me about the girl he likes today,” Clint grinned at her. All she did in reply was raise an eyebrow and purse her lips, but Clint knew she was jealous. He considered that a victory and leaned back in his chair, stretching out and crossing his feet in front of him.

“What I would pay to see Cap’s face when he gets into this class.”

“I’d pay double to see Peter’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my IRL friends: Yes. Yes I did.


	10. Avengers go to School part 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter suffers through American History and Clint surprises Bruce.

 

“Pop,” Peter began as he skipped to keep up with the long legs of his teenage father who was determinedly reading the map in order to get to their next class—American History. “If you love me, if you even love me a little bit you will not go to this class.”

Peter knew he was begging, and he really didn’t care. There was no way, _no way_ he could let his father, _oh god, his father,_ take even a step into Mr. Freeman's classroom. Surely the world would end.

Steve gave Peter one of his better “confused puppy” looks.

“Of course I love you, Peter, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to agree to delinquency just because you’re being queer about your father and I being at your school.”

Peter groaned, but pressed on.

“Number one, queer is one of those words you probably shouldn’t carry over from the forties—I feel like Dad and I have mentioned that before, but whatever. Number two, it is not delinquency—you aren’t even a real student!”

Steve just seemed flustered; he got that way when anyone pointed out his old-speak. When Peter was little no one really bothered correcting Steve except to make fun of him and Peter had picked up a few words here and there that earned him a few odd looks his first year of public school. It’s just weird when the only other person in the room who knows what “moxie” means is your nearly 80-year-old reading teacher.

“I would feel guilty if I skipped any classes, Peter. Besides, American History is probably the most important class I could take. Sometimes I think I’ll never catch up on everything that I missed.”

“Trust me Pop, you didn’t miss anything. History teachers rarely ever go passed the 60’s anyway! Just, please, Pop. If you do this for me I swear—you’ll be my favorite parent! I’ll write you a legal document and sign it saying that you are _officially_ my favorite, just, don’t—“

“Oh, well if it isn’t Steve and Peter!”

“Hi, Clint! Natasha!” Steve replied as the two assassins stepped side-by-side out of one of the doors to the classrooms.

Peter had only ever seen his assassin relatives smile that widely once in his entire life and that was on the day of his fathers’ wedding. Peter was still very young when they decided to get married officially. He couldn’t remember a lot of what happened that day, but he did remember that it was one of the happiest days his strange assortment of a family had ever had. Seeing those grins of Clint and Natasha’s faces now, though, simply served to have Peter sticky feeling of dread grow that much stronger.

“We’ve just had a lovely history lesson,” Clint said, talking to Steve but looking at Peter. “The teacher, Mr. Freeman, is certainly very—“

“Passionate,” Natasha finished for him, nodding smugly. Peter felt a headache coming on.

Steve, though he must not have had a clue what was going on, seemed eager to learn of it. He headed towards the classroom door once again and Peter just barely managed to skid in front of him, baring his entrance. He ignored Clint and Natasha’s quiet chuckling from behind him. 

“Peter!” Steve exclaimed with a touch of exasperation that, really, only Tony and himself could create in Captain America. “You’re being silly. I’m already here, and you aren’t talking me into skipping class—“ 

“No, Pop, seriously! My, uh—My spider sense! It’s—it’s tingling, Pop. I can feel it.” He closed his eyes and placed his fingers on either side of his head (pure, hopeless improvisation at this point), as though channeling some sort of supernatural force. “There’s going to be an attack! On the city! In a few minutes and, uh, the Avengers are going to be needed, obviously, so—“

“Peter, stop being ridiculous. Your spider sense can’t tell something like that.” His face changed suddenly, his brow turning stern. “Unless this is a new power, Peter. I _told_ you to tell your father or I if you were developing a new power—“

“It—it’s not really a _new power_ as such, Pop—“

_Ring! Ring! Ring!_

“Sounds like the warning bell, Kids,” Clint grinned their way. “You don’t wanna be late to class, do you, Cap? Nat and I better be off as well. Have a _super_ sixth period, Peter! See you at lunch!" 

Steve waved them off as they walked away grinning and then turned to enter the American History classroom. Peter shot a hand out and grabbed onto his father’s arm, rigid panic on his face as he held his father still. Steve ignored Peter’s attempts to stop him. It was a deadlock; father against son, super-strength against super-strength. But no matter how he tried, pooling all his power to hold his father back, Steve broke free from his grasp, chuckling good-naturedly as he stepped through the door, calling back cheerfully,

“See, Peter! Maybe if you spent a little more time training you would be able to stop—“

 Peter, who had stopped just outside the classroom door the moment his father broke free of his grip, winced internally at the sudden stop Steve had just come to. It could only mean one thing, and it was the very one thing Peter had been trying to keep his father from being exposed to in the first place. He ran a hand through shaggy hair as the final bell rang and his teacher appeared at his side, grinning sternly down at him.

“Coming to class today, Parker? That’s certainly a surprise.”

 Peter glanced up at Mr. Freeman, his American History teacher and tried to keep the telling grimace from his face—Mr. Freeman already didn’t think too highly of him. Mr. Freeman was an average man in his late forties; balding brown hair, a bit of a potbelly, and tiny little glasses that looked too small to even make much of a difference. He spoke loudly and with clear opinions. He didn’t give obnoxious amounts of homework and his lectures probably weren’t all that bad if Peter stayed awake long enough to listen to them. Most of the other students seemed to like him, at least a little, and Peter supposed he would be an okay teacher if it weren’t for one little personality trait that Mr. Freeman just couldn’t seem to shake…

“Oh, have we got a new student?” Peter heard him say as he sidestepped around his Pop and went to his seat at the very back of the classroom. He looked up just in time to see his father snap out of the shock he’d apparently gone into after entering the classroom and blink vaguely a few times in Mr. Freeman’s direction.

“Your name?” Mr. Freeman asked slowly, as he clearly thought Steve was a bit slow himself.

“R—Rogers…” Steve replied weakly. “Steve Rogers.”

Peter winced again at the look of glee that suddenly overcame Mr. Freeman’s face, and it was clear from Steve’s expression that he realized his mistake the moment he’d made it. 

“ _Steve Rogers!_ Fascinating! That’s—well, I suppose it’s a common name but I’ve just never had one in _my_ class before. Did you _know_ that Steve Rogers is Captain America’s real name? Not too many people know that, you know. They try to keep it quiet these days, his secret identity and everything, but back in the day it was fairly well known because he started out as a celebrity and all that—I’m a bit of a Captain America fan, actually.”

“Really?” Steve managed to say, somehow without glancing ironically around the room—the room that happened to be covered, _absolutely covered_ in Captain America posters and memorabilia.

 Mr. Freeman grinned sheepishly and said in slight undertones (Peter only managed to pick it up because of his enhanced hearing),

“I—I think I might be his _biggest_ fan, actually.”

Peter rolled his eyes and muttered the same thing he’d thought on his first day in Mr. Freeman’s classroom,

“Probably have to fight Coulson for that.”

He glanced back at the front of the classroom to where Mr. Freeman seemed to be talking Steve’s ear off—and Steve was wearing a very pained expression on his face. The other students in class seemed not to be paying any attention. He sighed and decided he might as well rescue his father, even if he’d tried to save him entirely earlier and Steve hadn’t listened. 

“Uh, Mr. Freeman? Steve is a transfer students and I’m, um, his guide today, so I was hoping he could sit beside me during this class." 

Mr. Freeman scowled at him but allowed Steve to conspicuously make his way to an empty seat beside Peter, sitting down softly then glancing uncomfortably around the room. Peter followed his gaze to the walls, all of which were covered with his face.

 “Well this is…” Steve murmured quietly, “unnerving.”

 Sinking low in his chair and pulling his hood halfway over his head, Peter replied,

 “Yeah, imagine trying to sleep through class with a hundred pictures of your father all glaring judgingly down at you—“

“Peter!”

 “—I still manage somehow, though.”

 He grinned at his father’s reprimanding look and shook his head.

 “I _tried_ to get to you to skip this class, but _no_.”

 “How come you never told me?” Steve asked thoughtfully.

Peter shrugged.

 “I dunno. I just… sort of thought it was just annoying, I guess.”

“Annoying?” Steve repeated, and his face fell.

“You’ll see,” Peter sighed, pulling his hood up the rest of the way as Mr. Freeman began teaching.

And, Steve had to admit (though not aloud) that Peter was right. He should have skipped this class. Steve really wasn’t sure how Peter managed to put up with it everyday. By the end of class, Steve was wincing every single time Mr. Freeman said the word “America.” He wanted to scream by about the tenth time the teacher mentioned something to do with his heroic alter ego. He nearly slammed his head into the desk when the words, “what could Captain America do?” came out of his mouth.

He glanced over at Peter all class, and although his teenage son didn’t go to sleep as he said he usually did, he appeared to tune out the entire class. About halfway through the period he pulled out his camera and started flipping through pictures that Steve couldn’t see from his seat.

“Peter Parker,” Mr. Freeman sighed and Peter looked up at him, expression uninterested, “You really should pay attention to this lesson. There’s a test coming up soon. Do you think Captain America snoozed through _his_ history lessons?” 

Steve saw Peter bite down a grin, though he didn’t find the situation nearly as amusing.

“We’re on World War II, right?”

Mr. Freeman seemed put out, but replied,

“Yes. I see you’ve picked up that much.”

Peter’s grin finally escaped as he said cheekily,

“I think I’ll be alright on that test.”

“If you say so.” And Mr. Freeman returned to his lesson. Peter glanced at his father with that grin still shining in a way that reminded Steve a little too much of Tony for him to resist it. He smiled back, though reluctantly. 

Maybe it was parental instincts, but Steve just didn’t like the idea of his son sleeping through class and ignoring his instructor’s lessons—even if he did understand the awkward situation Peter was placed in every time Mr. Freeman mentioned “Captain America.” When they were handed a worksheet and told to read the current chapter of the book while answering the sheet questions, Steve leaned over to Peter’s desk, scowling slightly.

“Pete, I—“

“It’s alright, Pop. I know you didn’t sleep through your history lessons. You don’t have to convince me.”

 Steve shook his head. 

“That’s… not what I was going to say. And anyway, history was never my favorite subject. I may have dozed off once or twice. It’s been so long I can barely remember, really. But, that doesn’t mean I approve of you sleeping through your classes, Peter. If you do it in this class then what’s to stop you from sleeping in your other classes—or are you going to tell me you do that too?”

Peter didn’t answer him, just stared uncomfortably in the other direction.

 “That’s not the Peter I know!” Steve exclaimed. The Peter he knew had always been a brilliant student; dedicated to his studies and doing well, learning and dreaming of getting into a good college without his father’s help. Peter had been enthusiastic about scholastics from a very young age. It’s not as though he wasn’t an active child; he ran and jumped and climbed just like any other kid. But, the Peter Steve remembered was just as comfortable playing as he was in a bright room of the tower, reading for hours on end then running to any Avenger or friend who would listen and explaining everything he’d just read and learned with a passion that warmed Steve’s (and everyone else’s) heart.

Steve wanted to know what happened to _that_ Peter.

Peter still wouldn’t look at him, though his expression of unease was now one of frustration. Quietly, very quietly over the sound of talking that filled the class like a loud buzzing, Peter murmured,

“The other day Mr. Freeman had me stay after class. He said he was worried about me, wondered why I seemed so tired all of the time. He said he wanted to have a conference. With my parents.”

A curious, complex expression flickered over Peter’s face and he glanced at Steve guiltily and finished,

“I told him my parents were dead. Didn’t really lie though, did I?”

The bell happened to ring at that very moment, and Steve might have wondered if Peter had suddenly gained super speed by the way he bolted from the room if not for the words Peter had left him with, running on a loop through his mind, puncturing his heart worse than any weapon ever had before.

* * *

 

 

“You are the single most immature person I have ever known,” Bruce groaned, leaning his head against the cool glass windowpane.

“That’s not true. You know Tony,” Clint countered smartly.

Bruce paused, thought it over, and turned back to the archer.

“Fair enough. It’s still not happened though. I can’t believe you would even ask me that.”

“Come onnnnnn, Bruce. You’re curious too, I _know_ you are!”

“Not _that_ curious, Clint. And would you please stop distracting me, I actually like this class.”

“I like this class too but that doesn’t mean I’m going to actually pay attention. It’s not like we’re really getting graded.”

“Hush.”

Bruce and Clint had British Literature together with the same teacher everyone else had had, Ms. Montooth. Bruce was trying to listen as she explained the difference between what everyone thought was old English with that was really just Shakespearean English. It turned out she could _speak_ old English, which was about as complicated to learn (and as dead a language) as Latin. Bruce was way beyond mildly impressed with this teacher. He didn’t think teachers of her talent and caliber taught _public school_. Sure, literature wasn’t really his thing, but Bruce could appreciate intelligence when he saw it. He wondered if Peter realized how lucky he was to have Ms. Montooth as a teacher.

The lesson was actually very interesting. She started off right away teacher about archetypal theory, which held it’s roots in the basis of the human genetic code and philosophy, something Bruce had studied off and on throughout his life—particularly after the incident that turned him into the Hulk. He had toyed with the idea that his cure might possible be found not in a formula, but in brain chemicals triggered by emotional state. The researched had never led anywhere brilliant but he’d always found it interesting. Ms. Montooth had a way of describing it that was at the same time very complex and simple enough for students of average intelligence to comprehend.

Clint, on the other hand, didn’t seem quite as interested in actually learning anything as he did, and spent every moment of class since the bell rang harassing Bruce and trying to convince him to Hulk out after class so he could actually see was teenage Hulk looked like. Obviously it was a horrible idea and Bruce wasn’t even going to consider it. 

Then again, Clint was making that _face_. 

“I’ll take a picture so you can see later.”

“I don’t _want_ to see, Clint! One of two things will happen if I Hulk out in this state. One: the spell didn’t affect the Hulk anyway and it’ll be pointless. Two: you’ll see an awkward, gangly looking Hulk and you’ll laugh at me and never let me live it down for the rest of time. Neither of those scenarios is appealing to me, Clint.”

“Awww, Bruce, buddy. I’m never gonna let you live this down anyway, so what have you got to lose?”

Bruce groaned and let his head fall against the window again. 

He’d gotten lucky in this class. One of the seats by the window wasn’t taken. Bruce had always liked seats by the window. He could stare out of them, daydreaming about formulas and experiments way beyond the learning being done inside the classroom. He’d done the same his first time around in High School…

When Bruce really thought about it, his high school experience wasn’t actually the worst time of his life. That time came before high school even started, and by the time he was in 9th grade his life had just started to calm down. It still wasn’t great, mind you, but he’d been trying to move on.

He tried not to think about his mother… his father. Instead, he focused on academics. He was bright, good at science, and he wanted to go to a good college to get even further away from his past. It still haunted him at night, though, in his dreams. The days after he’d suffered nightmares were never fun. He was teased for his nerdy appearance on a daily basis, but after a night without sleep he was walking around the school with messy hair and bags under his eyes. Even the teachers seemed to shy away from him on those days, and he couldn’t blame them.

He remembered high school being lonely. No one he could talk to, no one who would understand. He excelled in his science classes and every bit of praise and compliment boosted him up. By senior year he wasn’t plagued by his nightmares as frequently. He was the pride of his school and he got into a good college—where he met Betty. Life wasn’t nearly as miserable as it was before. In fact, everything in Bruce’s life seemed to be going better than he’d hoped; until the accident, that is. 

He sighed, banging his head lightly against the cool window. His glasses bumped the clear barrier and he felt warm sun on his face. He wondered what it would be like if he really had been turned back into a teenager, mind and all. He was glad Loki hadn’t thought to add that bit to the spell; he wasn’t keen on reliving the nightmares.

 But, if he did have to relive high school again, at least this time he knew he would have some company.

He turned to Clint, who had started tossing pencils up so they stuck in the ceiling, and muttered thoughtfully,

“Do you think Peter’s okay?”

Clint didn’t glance at him, just kept his gaze focused on the ceiling as he aimed another pencil.

“What do you mean? Pete’s fine.”

“Come on, Clint,” Bruce pressed, rolling his eyes. “Don’t try and pretend you haven’t noticed somethings up with him. You’re the most non-oblivious person I know.”

For a moment Bruce thought that Clint wasn’t going to reply, but then the archer sighed, aimed another pencil and said,

“Being a teenager is tough, man. Your body’s all weird and you’re trying to figure out who you are. I can’t even imagine what it’s like to be a super-powered teenager, not to even mention a super-powered teenager with two super-powered parents and a family of crazy super-powered people always going out and saving the world. I think all Pete needs is a little space and a little consideration.”

Bruce was pleasantly surprised. It wasn’t as though he didn’t know that Clint could have his nice moments, but this one made Bruce think. He smiled at Clint, finding it ironic that being turned back into a kid had somehow made the archer become more mature.

“Hey, Bruce—watch this!”

Then he tossed an eraser, hard, at the ceiling and suddenly every pencil that’d been precariously stuck there came raining down on the both of them. As the teacher and the entire class turned to stare at them, Bruce retracted his previous thought.

No matter what age he was, Clint was never going to grow up. 


	11. Avengers go to School part 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve and Peter have feels that neither of them wish to share.

It took Steve a good 3 minutes before he could make himself stand from his desk and amble mindlessly out of Mr. Freeman’s American History classroom. From there his feet worked on autopilot, drawing from his already memorized schedule and map of the campus to lead him to the cafeteria. Steve’s brain had pretty much shut down the moment those hard words left Peter’s mouth. He wasn’t rushing to lunch by any means, yet he still ended up being the first one there.

He scanned the crowded lunchroom numbly, eventually spotting Tony and Natasha entering through the doors on the opposite end. Tony took a pause from whatever argument he and Black Widow appeared to be having to wave excitedly at Steve and motion for him to meet them at the doors that led to the outdoor sitting area. Steve was still so out of it he didn’t have the energy to notice how very adolescent his husband looked when he smiled and walked the way he was doing.

When he met up with them at the door they had resumed their conversation. Steve was glad they were too preoccupied to notice his sour mood. He knew Tony would notice eventually but he really didn’t want to rehash Peter’s statement to Tony quite yet. He took his parenting more seriously than Steve did sometimes. Steve thought it probably had to do with Tony’s relationship with Howard that made him want to be a better father to Peter. He would undoubtedly blame himself if he thought for even one second Peter was feeling unloved or even ignored.

“Banner! Barton!” Tony called out and Steve snapped his head up to spot his de-aged teammates sitting a table half shaded by the seemingly single tree planted in the lunch courtyard. “Sweet, you scored us a table!”

The outside courtyard had no roof or any covering of the kind, which meant that when the weather was bad the students who usually ate outside (mostly upperclassmen who bullied the lowerclassmen out of their tables) were forced indoors with the others. Most of the time this idea was so unappealing the students who usually ate outside would stay in their classrooms for lunch or even leave campus if they had access to a car.

Steve could understand why the outside tables were more preferable. The lunchroom was loud and smelled of hormones and overcooked, government-grade food product—not to mention the tense fear filling the air that came with the knowledge that a food fight could erupt at any minute and splatter one with cold mashed potatoes.

The tables outside were spaced farther apart and the wind was gentle. Steve took a seat beside his husband on the uncomfortable picnic-style bench and tried to act natural, though his son’s words were still ringing loud and clear in his head.

“Has anyone seen Thor?” Natasha asked nervously. It was probably a bit silly, but she was protective of the big lug—about as protective as she was of every other Avenger.

“Here he comes,” Bruce pointed to the walkway upon which Thor was jogging towards them, followed by a scrawny kid with glasses that only Natasha seemed to recognize.

“Who, uh, who’s your friend, buddy?” Clint asked cautiously when they reached the table, casting a curious glance Tony’s way.

At which point Thor introduced Leif to the others, explaining how he’d been helping Thor find his classes (not to mention helping him during those classes). Though this meant they couldn’t really talk about Avenger things during lunch, Steve was sort of glad to have him as a distraction so no one would notice his obvious moroseness. 

Leif proved even more helpful when the Avengers all noticed that they had left the house so quickly in the morning they forgot lunch. He pulled out the largest lunchbox Steve had ever seen and admitted that his mother always packed him way too much food, and they could help themselves to anything they wanted. Tony took the granola bar, Natasha an apple, but Thor and Clint dove in, decimating the sandwiches and snacks in minutes. Bruce said he wasn’t hungry, which was probably true. The only time he ever ate a lot was after Hulking out.

Steve managed to make it about halfway through lunch before Clint seemed to notice him, smirked and said,

“So Steve, how did you like that American History class, huh?”

Steve’s chest felt sort of tight thinking about it.

“O—oh, it was alright,” he said, trying (and probably failing) to smile.

“Just alright?” Clint mirrored, sounding let down. “Nat and I thought it was _pretty_ interesting.”

“What’s interesting about American History?” Tony asked, clearly interested. “You’ve got living, breathing American history sitting right across—OW!”

Nat must have kicked Tony underneath the table because he cast a fleeting glance at Leif, deeply involved in some conversation with Thor, and paused. Clint grinned at him though, devious glint gleaming in his eyes.

“Oh, the class wasn’t really anything special, Tony. You’d probably hate it.”

“I would?” Tony asked slowly, eyes narrowing in Clint’s direction. He knew a ploy when he heard one.

“Oh yeah. Super boring,” Clint replied, still grinning. Beside him, Nat was starting to smile as well. Tony was very suspicious now, but Steve was just glad the conversation had switched from him again. Not that his luck was bound to last long anyway.

“Hey, where’s Pete anyway?”

Natasha turned to him, raising an eyebrow in that way Steve would never get used to, no matter how long he’d known her.

“You must have seen him last, right Cap?”

“He ran off!” Steve answered a little to quickly. He tried to laugh to cover it up. “Must have had something important to look after.”

Bruce and Clint seemed to exchange a glance at this information, but neither said anything aloud. Tony was oblivious and launched into a long-winded tirade about his son’s obviously inherited work-ethic. Steve drifts off again, trying not to worry about Peter even though that was the one thing he seemed to be doing a lot of ever since becoming a parent. Peter was always on his mind, somewhere in a little corner. He tried not to be overprotective, but he thinks about Spider-Man and feels like a failure. He’d talked about it with Tony countless times and, though they don’t agree on everything, they do usually agree about their son.

He doesn’t know what to do about Peter, though now he clearly understands that Peter is struggling, and upset. He spends the better part of lunch being quietly upset as well.

* * *

 

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Peter was watching his strange, frustrating family eat lunch from up high; on the roof of the main building, in fact. He spent a good deal of time up there, actually. It was stereotypical and over-done to have to teenage hero vacate to the roof of his high school to “get away from everything,” but see, Peter had an advantage—he was actually the only student who _could_ get to the roof. The only way to get up was a ladder that only led out of the principle’s office window. No one needed to come up to the roof much anyway, though Peter knew that there were a few of his more drug-inclined classmates that would just _love_ a sweet getaway like the one he’d found.

He didn’t use the ladder, of course; just scaled a wall on a side of the building that no one ever went. He didn’t even really need wall-sticking powers to manage it. He figured Clint would have a pretty easy time finding a decent enough path up without even a grappling hook. None of the kids at Peter’s school were as vertically inclined as he and his uncle were, though.

No one had ever spotted him up there either, which was either luck or had something to do with the fact that no one actually ever bothered to look up where he liked to sit. He liked one spot in particular. It had a good view of the lunch tables (not to mention the one where Gwen and her friends always sat).

He brought Harry up there once (it’d been a task actually helping him climb the wall using just the odd jutting out bricks and window ledges), and Harry had thought he was absolutely crazy and that they were going to either die or get into horrible trouble, and then Peter had jumped off the building, used a web to swing around the nearest telephone pole and land right back where he was. After that, Harry wasn’t really worried about getting into trouble.

He knew his parents wouldn’t approve of Harry knowing, which was exactly why he hadn’t said anything yet. Just another thing he was keeping secret from his fathers. His fathers, _especially_ Tony, were crazy serious about him keeping his secret identity secret. He was such a hypocrite. Steve agreed with him though, and it really wasn’t that surprising that they felt that way. They’d been making Peter keep secrets since he was just a kid. Well, mostly since he insisted on attending public school. 

He couldn’t be Peter Stark-Rogers Parker when he was at school, the name he’d lived with most of his life. He was only Peter Parker, and he overheard people sometimes talking about him, _that poor orphan, Peter Parker_. And Peter wanted to tell that he wasn’t an orphan, not really, not anymore. He might have been at one point, a point he couldn’t remember all that well, but now he had parents. He had a _family_. A kick-ass one, too.

Peter just felt like he was lying all the time. Lying about being just Peter Parker, when he was really Peter Stark-Rogers Parker—and not just that, he was Spider-man!

That was what really made him decide to tell Harry the truth. He was sick of making up excuses as to why Harry couldn’t come over to his house to hang out, what his parents did for a living, what his life was before he came to Midtown High. He was worried Harry would stop liking him and then he would really have no friends, and that would just suck.

So he told Harry, and Harry took it really well. He was surprised, of course, but he thought it was awesome, and it wasn’t long after that Peter told him about his family as well. Harry had just been amazed then, and said something about that being about a billion times cooler than his family, which Peter actually fought him on because Harry’s dad was awesome, and a genius, and even though his dad was probably smarter, his dad was also Tony Stark and no one outside of family and friends knew that Tony Stark even _had_ a son.

It stung sometimes.

When Peter was younger he was seen with Steve a few times, back before they’d had an entire playground built on the third floor of the tower just for Peter (this had developed into an obstacle/training course as years went by) and he wanted to take Peter out to a park to actually play with other kids and maybe get some sunlight. Only a few reporters actually thought Peter was Steve’s son though, and they never identified him as who he actually was. He was always, “Mysterious Young Boy Accompanies Captain America to Park.” Some thought he was Steve’s long-lost relative, like his great, great grandnephew or something. But after a while Pepper and Tony started to worry about the articles and young Peter’s safety, and nothing was ever printed about him again—at least until he became Spider-man.

Sometimes Peter wondered if it was worth it, being Spider-man. His parents were so strict he could only go out at night and for some reason the editor of the Daily Bugle has it in for him. He never writes anything positive about Spider-man, even though Peter’s actually managed to save some people, no matter how sort a time he’s been doing the whole super hero thing.

He saved Gwen once. Just from falling. Tripping, actually, and he definitely _hadn’t_ been following her just in case she needed saving. She just seemed like the type to attract danger, what with being the daughter of the police captain. That was what he assumed anyway, even though she’d only tripped the one time and had probably been more freaked out by him suddenly appearing out of thin air in tight red spandex than stumbling a bit down the sidewalk.

She could have sprained her ankle! It was a good thing Peter had been there!

That was actually probably where the rumor came from that Spider-man attended Midtown High. It had sort of happened back behind the track. Peter sighed and tore his gaze away from the blond ponytail and back to the table his family had taken up. He scowled curiously at the mysterious kid sitting beside his uncle Thor. He’d never seen him before. Maybe he was an _actual_ new student.

His father’s shoulders were slumped, and he wasn’t saying much. Peter could tell that even from where he was, and he wished he’d gotten time powers instead of spider ones. A little pit of guilt boiled in his stomach. He shouldn’t have said those things to his Pop. It was mean, and harsh, and unnecessary, and he’d said it to _Steve_ , who had barely ever reprimanded him his entire life. Sure he was strict about Peter’s training, but Peter never doubted that his Pop loved him.

Not that his Dad didn’t love him. It was just that sometimes Steve seemed like he depended more on their family than Tony. Steve had lost everything. No matter how many years passed, Tony had told him one day, eyes soft and serious, Steve would always be trying to chase after what he lost. It wasn’t enough that he’d gotten Uncle Bucky back. Steve wanted a _family_ , and that was what Peter and Tony were to him. That was why he loved them so much. Tony had Pepper, and Happy and Rhodey, but Steve didn’t have anyone when he woke up. He found someone to love with Tony, and Peter knew that there had never been a single moment since they had adopted him that Steve didn’t think of Peter as his son.

And that just made Peter feel that much worse.

He’d basically said to Steve’s face that he didn’t think of him as his father. Peter groaned. He was _such_ a dick. He would have to apologize at some point, try to explain that he hadn’t meant it the way he’d said it. He hoped Steve wouldn’t tell Tony. His other father wouldn’t take it well either. Sometimes Peter felt like it was a miracle he had any self-esteem at all, with Steve and Tony as parents. He liked to think some of Clint and Natasha rubbed off on him in that area.

Well, he hoped anyway. 

Peter might have spent the rest of his lunch moping about his lack of confidence and inability to even talk to Gwen without stumbling all over himself, but his stomach suddenly made a terrible noise and it occurred to him that he had already wasted half of his lunch period. Springing up, he eyed the roof of the building nearest the one he was on. He smirked. He’d made this leap plenty of times; he could probably do it in his sleep.

One benefit of his spider powers he hadn’t exactly expected: he’d been eating hot dogs from central park vendors for lunch for a _month_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short, and the angst will stop eventually. Promise. BRING BACK THE HIJINKS!


	12. Avengers go to school part 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leif is Loki, Steve is a dimple-butt, Thor is awesome, and Clint is Clint.

Loki wasn’t sure what compelled him to do this. It really was a _horrible_ idea—and yet, seeing these idiots trying to manage themselves in their awkward teenage forms was beyond brilliant. 

It was a testament to how well he understood Tony Stark’s personality by now that he knew he’d drag the Avengers to high school if they were transformed into younger versions of themselves to suffer through one of the worst of the human’s adolescent torture systems; he hadn’t even had to trick them—they came on their own. Really, he was infinitely grateful that Asgardians had a more evolved method of education than this ridiculous idea of public school. Though, unsurprisingly, his moronic _brother_ seemed to absolutely adore it. Loki wished he could find that just a bit less endearing than he did. 

“What is the next lesson on the schedule, Leif?” the blond, grinning temporary-teen asked the moment the lunch bell rang. 

“Mythology,” Loki answered, grinning through his façade-face and then pausing, realizing what he’d just said. _Hm, this might be interesting. Not to mention the youngest Avenger should be in this class as well. I’m sure he’s enjoying this joke as much as I am._

Loki had nothing against Peter, aside from his relation to a certain group of superheroes who enjoy, as the earthlings say, “crashing his party” every time he so much as steps foot on their precious planet (thought at some point he stopped trying to beat them—toying with them was much more fun and attempting to defeat them never seemed to work out his way anyway). The god of mischief also may or may not have been involved in the chain of events that led to Peter acquiring his Spider powers—but if he was involved he refuses to take all of the blame as it’s hardly entirely his fault. 

Loki still remembers the first time he attacked the Avengers after they’d gotten Peter. He’d been busy faking alien attacks on the easily-frightened humans of the American mid-west and after some business of “close encounters of the fourth kind” the Avengers stepped in to send him back to—as Stark rudely calls it—“time out” in Asgard. He recalls the entire team being very distracted; he even managed to escape at one point by hiding in the quinjet (where they would least expect to find him) only to find that the aircraft already had one passenger aboard sitting in a red and gold car seat. 

Loki did what any respectable trickster would do—he stole the young Peter and vanished him away back to Asgard, where he waited patiently for the Avengers to come find him and get the child back. What he hadn’t expected when he did this was for Frigga to find him harboring the child and insist that they play with the young human until his parents came and got him. What he’d expected even less was that he found himself almost enjoying it—which may be why kidnapping Peter became a nice pastime in the following years, at least until Peter came to expect it and one day offered to play “video games” with Loki instead of allowing himself to be kidnapped and Loki had accepted for a reason completely unknown to him. 

To make himself feel better about the entire situation he cheated on every game and never let Peter win—though the youth seemed to have a pretty decent time anyway. 

“Peter! I am much looking forward to spending this lesson with you. I haven’t been able to spend much time with you as of late and this is the perfect opportunity.”

“Great,” the teenager’s shoulders dropped, “you would be in this class. Who’s your friend, Uncle—uh, Thor?” 

“This is my companion for the day, Leif.” He leaned closer to Peter and Thor-whispered, which was never much of a whisper at all, “He has been helping me find my way around this maze of a building you call a school. I’m afraid I would never have made it to my first class if he had not come along.” 

“I haven’t seen you around before,” Peter mentions to Loki as they enter the class and take their seats. “Are you a real new—I mean, are you a new student too?” 

“I’ve been around. It’s possible you just missed me.” 

Peter seemed to accept that with a shrug and settled into his seat as Thor stared around the class at the posters and projects hung on the walls. Just before the bell rang Loki thought he heard Peter mutter under his breath,

“At least we aren’t studying Nordic mythology.”

Loki smirked. He could change that. 

 

“Why are you so down, Capcake?” Tony asked once the lights were off and the projector started playing some strange animated film on the whiteboard at the front of the class. Creative Writing was a very loose term to describe this class, Steve thought. Apparently it was common practice for the teacher to simply put on a movie and have the kids write half a page about the movie to turn in at the end of class as the days work. 

It was odd, and he was glad Peter didn’t have such a waste of a class. 

“I’m not down,” he replied easily, though as soon as he said it he knows Tony won’t buy it. 

“Okaaaay… which explains why you won’t look me in the eyes. You aren’t even annoyed that I used your least favorite nickname.”

“Capcake is _not_ my least favorite nickname,” Steve assured Tony, hoping it would distract the other man from inquiring further about his mood. 

“It’s Bunns, isn’t it?” Tony asked, and the corner of one of Steve’s eyes ticked. He would never understand Tony’s obsession with his butt. Tony didn’t even really like to touch it all that often, but he swore he could stare at it for days on end. Steve understood appreciating the human form—he even understood appreciating that particular area (he was quite fond of Tony’s if truth be told)—but there was just something wrong about that level of affection for lumpy bits of flesh at the bottom of a person’s back. 

“American Pie?” Tony continued, and Steve rolled his eyes. “Capkin? Stevie-weavie? Dimple-butt? Captain Butt? Captain BOOTY? Captain Perfect Hair?”

“You’ve never called me—“

“Cutie-patootie? Puppy-butt? Pookie? CAPTAIN pookie!”

“Really, Tony?”

“It’s Kitten-whiskers, isn’t it? I knew you hated that one. You don’t even like cats.” 

“I like cats, Tony! What makes you think I wouldn’t?”

Tony narrowed his eyes at him, nodding his head softly.

“Alright, but you do like dogs better.”

Steve had to confess to that one. 

“Just a little bit.”

“I knew it! You should totally have a sidekick dog, like Krypto, but more patriotic.”

Steve couldn’t help but grin at the idea, however childish it was. Tony was slick, though, and snapped right back on topic the moment Steve let down his guard. 

“It’s something to do with Peter, hm?”

“I never said that,” Steve scowled. 

“But it is. Come on, Steve, I’m not an idiot—I’m the opposite, actually. Just tell me what’s up.” 

“Nothing’s up.”

“I’ll get it out of you eventually, you don’t wanna test me.”

“If I tell you will you never call me Dimple-butt again?”

“And we’ve got a winner! The prize goes to the surprise nickname from group B. Filing that one away to use over the comms next time we’re fighting. Joking! Joking! Only joking! Tell me why the sour face.”

Steve hesitated. He knew he wasn’t going to tell Tony everything; he just wasn’t sure how to start. 

“Do you remember when Peter first got his powers and we argued about sending him to Xavier’s?” 

“Ahh, yes. Pepper still tells me she’s surprised we didn’t collapse the tower the way we were going at each other during that fight. I do recall the makeup sex being more than worth it though.” 

Steve rolled his eyes. 

“Which you only agreed to because it was what _you_ wanted, Tony.”

“Hey, hey,” Tony countered quickly, raising his hands in defense. “You aren’t trying to start that fight again are you? I though Peter made the decision for us. He wanted to stay in this shabby public school instead of being shipped off—“

“Don’t start, Tony. And no, I’m not trying to start that fight again. It lasted long enough the first time.”

It really had been an excellent fight. So much so that not one of the Avengers had offered their input, despite both Tony and Steve trying to drag them in countless times. Steve had been on the side of sending Peter to Xavier’s Institute the moment they found out about his powers. Sure, Steve wanted to be able to help his son master his newfound abilities on his own, but he just wasn’t sure public school was the best place for a kid who had just gained super strength. 

Tony, obviously, disagreed. He hated the idea of sending Peter away, even if it was to a school that specialized in young people like Peter. Steve knew Tony to well to not see where he had been coming from; Tony’s parents had sent him to boarding school the first chance they got, and Steve wasn’t sure he ever really got over it. He didn’t want to be the same kind of parent to Peter, even though the situation was a little different. 

They argued about it for days; sometimes civilly and other times _loudly._ Tony tried to say that if Steve didn’t want Peter to go to his public school then they would just homeschool him, but Steve knew that would never work—not to mention that Peter would never be happy like that. The kid made friends easily; he’d already been sheltered for most of his life and Steve wasn’t about to take his freedom away from him again. Tony flat-out refused to let Peter go, even after Steve called in a favor and got Xavier on the phone to give his own voice the cause. Tony wouldn’t budge. 

Finally, after they had been arguing all day and night (including in the middle of a scuffle with some AIM monsters), Peter quietly interrupted them and asked nervously if he had any say in the matter. 

It had taken some time, but eventually he managed to convince both his fathers that staying in Midtown High was the best choice, and he would do whatever it took to control his powers. Steve finally conceded when Peter talked Tony into the agreement that if he messed up once he would finish high school at Xaviers. Tony wasn’t happy about it, but he trusted Peter to not mess up, and thus far he hadn’t. 

“I just wonder if we made the right choice,” Steve questioned. He saw Tony frown, but the other man didn’t give any reply. “You wanted him to stay so that we could be in his life, and I’m worried we haven’t been doing a very good job of that lately.”

“What are you talking about? We snuck into his school disguised as teenagers. How much more in his life can we be?” 

“Yeah, but do we really know all we should about his school life. He’s very dedicated to it, and we’ve never even once asked him how his classes are going and thought to meet his teachers.”

“His classes are booooring, and his teachers are boring, and I’m sure he’s doing fine. He’s _our_ son.”

“Tony.”

“Look, you have Photography with Pete next period, right?”

Steve tried to visualize the schedule Tony had made for him and vaguely remembered being excited about sharing a photography class with his son. He nodded. 

“Alright. Just ask him if he’s feeling ignored or whatever it is you think he’s feeling. I’m sure he’ll tell you. He’s a very open person.” 

Steve sighed, but Tony had already moved on, bringing some schematics up on his phone as he leaned against Steve’s shoulder to stay upright. He supposed Tony was right; asking was the easiest thing to do, and what could it hurt? Still, Tony hadn’t been there when Peter had admitted to saying his parents were dead. It hurt to even think about. If Peter really didn’t think of he and Tony as his parents Steve didn’t know what he would do. Just hearing anything like that would break Tony’s heart. 

Still, Steve needed to do something. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let his son go around thinking his parents didn’t have time to worry about him or his school life. He didn’t care if he needed to become one of those “soccer dads” or whatever they were called—he was going to be involved in his son’s life whether Peter wanted it or not!

 

At the end of what had been simultaneously one of the most hilarious and frustrating Mythology classes he’d ever sat through, Peter was beginning to forget why he’d been so angsty earlier in the first place. His Uncle Thor could have that kind of effect on him; he always just seemed to be in a good mood. And if he wasn’t in a good mood he didn’t try to hide it like most people—he just destroyed a table or cleaned out the booze pantry while trying not to grumble like the spoiled prince he is. Peter had spent a good deal of his childhood going on the greatest piggyback rides of all time, whether they were from either of his fathers, or his Uncle Clint (who is responsible for Peter’s habit of jumping from rooftops), or the Hulk, or the God of Thunder himself, and though he’d never tell his dad, Thor’s were always the best. Thor had a taste for the dramatic, and whenever he’d take Peter flying with him they’d both always come back with windblown hair and the enough stories about nearly crashing into airplanes to give Steve a heart attack. Thor loved a good adventure, and was always ready for a laugh, which proved true even in the Mythology class where they were suddenly leaning about Nordic myths instead of the South American ones Peter had thought he’d taken notes on the last class. He must have slept through more classes than he thought, because the stories they’d heard today had been all about Thor and Loki’s family, and it’d been hilarious hearing Thor defending himself while laughing heartily at every story about Loki sleeping with something he shouldn’t have. 

His new friend Leif didn’t seem to enjoy it as much, nor did the teacher, but Peter and Thor both left the class looking forward to for the truth about some of those stories the next time Loki decided to pay them a visit. 

“It appears we have this… Gym class together now, is that right, Peter?” 

“Huh? Gym? I don’t think I have Gym today. Let me see your schedule.” 

Thor handed it over and before Peter could read it, Leif had stolen it from him and huffed out an irritated sigh. 

“You read it wrong! See, we have this Auto Shop class today, and tomorrow it switches and we have Gym.”

“This school is complicated,” Thor groaned as he took back his schedule. “You know I couldn’t find where I was meant to go this morning? I thought I would be wandering these halls forever.”

“I know that feeling,” Peter agreed. 

“What is your next destination, Peter, if not this mysterious Gym?”

“Russian. I’m sure Aunt Tasha will be there. I—I mean Tasha. Natasha,” he added quickly, remembering at the last minute that this Leif guy wasn’t actually in on the whole ‘transformed into teenagers but actually super-powered celebrities’ thing. 

“Well, good luck with the language. Lady Jane was studying it a time ago and had much trouble. She had me help her with these odd flashcard…things. It was even worse than the physics ones! I’m sure Natasha will be elated to see you, though. She seemed excited about it this morning.” 

“Really?” 

“Of course!” Thor boomed. “We’ve all missed you as of late, what with everything else that has been plaguing us. We thought this would be a good way to, how did Clint put it? Bond, with you. I thought at first he was referring to those films Tony insisted we watch a ways ago, but then he explained that he didn’t need to go on ‘highly unrealistic spy adventures’ with you to get closer to you. I think he was right. Attending these interesting lessons with you has been highly enjoyable!”

If there was ever anyone to use his own innocent optimism to make Peter feel even worse about something than he already did, it was Thor. He never should have been so upset at his fathers—at any of them—for wanting to bother him at school. They just wanted to bond with him, not annoy him! He should have realized that. 

“I—I had an enjoyable time in that last class too,” Peter said with a soft sigh. He would need to try harder not to be such an angsty teenager, even if he was the only one who had any right to be. 

Thor beamed, and then shoved Peter bodily down the hall.

“You don’t want to keep Lady Natasha waiting! She’s never been one to appreciate that!”

Peter waved back at him and jogged off. He grinned and turned to Leif, who was eyeing him curiously, then asked where they should go to get to their next lesson. As soon as they were on their way he wondered aloud,

“I am curious where Clint has gotten off to? He was supposed to join us for that last lesson.”

“I’m sure he’s found something noteworthy to amuse himself,” Leif replied dryly, just quietly enough so Thor wouldn’t hear. 

 

“How do I let you talk me into these things?” 

“Obviously because you secretly love stupid, not thought-out adventures. It’s the hidden Gryffindor side of you that you never talk about.” 

“Oh please, I’m a Ravenclaw, Slytherin at most. And you aren’t a Gryffindor either, Clint. We all know you’ve got Hufflepuff pride.”

“Damn straight,” Clint replied, grinning as they stood hunched on the rooftop overlooking the outdoor cafeteria. 

“I skipped a class for this you know,” Bruce grumbled. “I’ve never skipped a class in my life. Not even in college!”

“Bruce, everyone skipped classes in college. How else would you survive college?” 

“I didn’t think you went to college, Clint.” 

“I went to college… parties.”

“Of course. So you had no actual classes you were signed up for that would care if you skipped them.”

“I did attend some classes, not strictly speaking classes I paid for, but what can you do? How do you think I learned Russian, from the knife-toss couple at the circus? Nah, they were a couple of weirdos. The bearded lady did teach me Spanish though.”

“Your Spanish sucks.” 

“Case and point. And stop distracting me—I’m trying to figure out which of these little inmates is stealing pens in this hellhole of a school. There doesn’t seem to be any connection between the victims. What if something really fishy is going on?”

“Somehow I doubt it.”

“You’ll see. I’m gonna catch this guy and write the whole article. I’ll blow Peter out of the wa—at _the fuck was that?_ ” 

“What?”

“Some girl’s pen just flew out of her backpack and across the whole courtyard!”

“Don’t make the article up, Clint, that’s not cool. Peter’s the one who’ll get in trouble if you write a fake—“

“I’m not joking, Bruce! I wouldn’t joke about flying writing utensils!” 

“…Seriously?”

“Yeah!”

“Only you, Hawkeye. Only you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, still chucking away at this story. It may not seem like I still enjoy this story with how rarely I update but I do really like it, and hopefully i'll get my mojo back soon and update more often.


End file.
